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Book, ^ 6 A A.5 



Copyright N° I3_IX_ 



COPYRIGHT DEPCSm 



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MILESTONES 



BY ARNOLD BENNETT 



Novels 

THE OLD WIVES' TALE 

HELEN WITH THE HIGH HAND 

THE MATADOR OF THE FIVE TOWNS 

THE BOOK OF CARLOTTA 

BURIED ALIVE 

A GREAT MAN 

LEONORA 

WHOM GOD HATH JOINED 

A MAN FROM THE NORTH 

ANNA OF THE FIVE TOWNS 

THE GLIMPSE 

Pocket Philosophies 

HOW TO LIVE ON 24 HOURS A DAY 
THE HUMAN MACHINE 
LITERARY TASTE 
MENTAL EFFICIENCY 

Plays 

CUPID AND COMMONSENSE : A Play 
WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS: ' A Play 
POLITE FARCES: Three Plays 
MILESTONES: A Play 
THE HONEYMOON: A Play 

Miscellaneous 

THE TRUTH ABOUT AN AUTHOR 
THE FEAST OF ST. FRIEND 



GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 

NEW YORK 



MILESTONES 



A PLAY IN THREE ACTS 



BY 
ARNOLD BENNETT 

AND AJffcJL 

EDWARD KNOBLAUCH 



GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS , NEW YORK 



Copyright, 1912, by 
ARNOLD BENNETT and EDWARD KNOBLAUCH 



vC.CU3l41.95 * 



TO 

FRANK VERNON 

WHO HAVING BROUGHT THE AUTHORS TOGETHER IN- 
STRUCTED THEM TO COLLABORATE IN A PLAY AND 
WHO WHEN THEY HAD OBEYED HIM PUT THE 
PLAY ON THE STAGE WITH AN ART WHICH 
EVOKED THEIR LIVELIEST GRATITUDE 



CHARACTERS IN THE PLAY 

John Rhead. 

Gertrude Rhead. 

Mrs. Rhead. 

Samuel Sibley. 

Rose Sibley. 

Ned Pym. 

Emily Rhead. 

Arthur Preece. 

Nancy Sibley. 

Lord Monkhurst. 

The Honourable Muriel Pym. 

Richard Sibley. 

Thompson. 

Webster. 

Footman. 

The Scene is laid throughout in the drawing-room of 
a house in Kensington Gore. 

The First Act is in I860. 
The Second Act is in 1885. 
The Third Act is in 1912. 



MILESTONES 

ACT I 

1860 

[Note. — Right and left are from the point of view 
of the actor.] 

The Scene represents the drawing-room of a house 
in Kensington Gore. The house is quite new 
at the time: all the decorations, pictures and 
furniture are of the mid-Victorian period. 
On the left three long windows look out on 
Kensington Gardens. On the right a large 
double door leads into the back drawing-room. 
A single door on the same side of the room 
leads to the hall and stairs. In the centre at 
back a large fireplace with a fire burning in it. 
The blinds and curtains are drawn; the lamps 
are lighted. 

It is about half-past nine at night of the 29th of 
December, 1860. 

[Mrs. Rhead, a woman of nearly sixty, is sitting on 
the sofa, crocheting some lace, which is evi- 
dently destined to trim petticoats. Her hair 
is dressed in the style of 1840, though her 
dress is of the 1860 period. Near her, m an 
9 



10 MILESTONES 

armchair, sits Rose Sibley, a gentle, romantic- 
lookmg girl of twenty-one, who is dressed in 
the height of fashion of the period. She is at 
work on a canvas wool-work pattern. Cups 
of after-dinner coffee stand near both ladies.~\ 

Mrs, R. Do permit me to look at your work 
one moment, my dear Rose. 

Rose. With pleasure, Mrs. Rhead. 

Mrs. R. Very pretty indeed. Nothing could 
be in better taste than these Berlin wool patterns. 

Rose. I got the design from the " English- 
woman's Domestic Magazine." It's to be one of 
three cushions for father's study. 

Mrs. R. I had an idea of doing the same sort of 
thing for my husband, after we moved into the new 
house here, three years ago. But then, when he 
died, I hadn't the heart to go on. So I'm crochet- 
ing lace now instead for Gertrude's trousseau. 
Will you have some more coffee ? 

Rose. No, thank you. 

Mrs. R. Just a drop. Gertrude, pour out — 
[She looks about. ,] Now where has Gertrude dis- 
appeared to? 

Rose. She left the room some moments ago. 

Mrs. R. Even between dinner and coffee she 
must be off. 

Rose. But why? 

Mrs. R. Do I know, my dear ? Just managing 
the house and managing it, and managing it. 



ACT I 11 

Upon my word, Gertrude performs the duties of 
the place as if it were the foundry and she were 
John. My son and daughter are so alike. 

Rose [interjecting enthusiastically]. One's as 
splendid as the other. 

Mrs. R. She keeps account-books now. 

Rose [rather startled]. Of the house? 

Mrs. R. [nods']. And she says she shall show 
John a balance-sheet at quarter-day. Did you ever 
hear of such behaviour? 

Rose. She always was very active, wasn't she? 
It's in the blood. 

Mrs. R. It is not in mine, and I am her mother. 
No! It is all due to these modern ways; that is 
what it is. 

Rose. I suppose John's rather pleased. 

Mrs. R. Yes, John! But what about your 
brother? Will he be pleased? Is Gertrude going 
to make him the wife his position demands? 

Rose. I'm sure he'll be delighted to have his 
house managed as this one's managed. 

Mrs. R. But will it stop at that? Once one 
begins these modern ways, one never knows where 
they will end. 

Rose. I must say I was surprised she ever ac- 
cepted Sam. 

Mrs. R. [deprecatingly]. Surprised? But 
why? 

Rose. We Sibleys are such an extremely old- 
fashioned family. Look at father! And I do 



12 MILESTONES 

believe Sam's worse. Yes, I do believe Sam's 
worse than father. Thank goodness they have 
your son for a partner — two such slow-coaches, 
as they are. 

Mrs. R. Slow-coaches! My dear, remember 
the respect due to your father. 

Rose [eagerly]. Oh, I adore father, and Sam, 
too ! I wouldn't have either of them altered for 
the world. But I do think Sam's very fortunate 
in getting Gertrude. 

Mrs. R. She also is very fortunate, very fortu- 
nate indeed. I have the highest respect for Sam's 
character, and my hope and prayer is that he and 
Gertrude will influence each other for nothing but 
good. But, between you and me, my dear, the 
first six months will be — well — lively, to say the 
least. [Gertrude Rhead enters by the door from 
the hall, carrying in her hand a cloak of the latest 
pattern of the period. She is twenty-one, high 
spirited, independent, afraid of no one.'] 

Rose. What on earth's that, Gertrude? 

Gert. I've just been upstairs to get it. Help 
me, will you? I wanted to show it you. [Rose 
helps Gertrude with the cloak.] I only bought it 
to-day, with the money John gave me for Christ- 
mas. Thank you — Well ? 

Rose. Very daring, isn't it? I suppose it's 
quite the latest? 

Gert. Next year's. Mother says it's " fast." 



ACT I 13 

Mrs. R. I hope you'll put it away before the 
men come up. 

Gert. [with assumed innocence']. Why? 

Mrs. R. Because Samuel will surely not ap- 
prove of it. 

Gert. I bet you he will. 

Mrs. R. Gertrude! 

Gert. The truth is, Rose, mother's only taken 
a prejudice against it because I brought it home 
myself this afternoon in a handsome cab. 

Rose [staggered]. Alone? In a hansom cab? 

Mrs. R. You may well be shocked, dear. My 
lady refuses the carriage, becauses of keeping the 
horses standing in this terrible frost. And then 
she actually hails a hansom-cabriolet ! What Sam- 
uel would say if he knew I dare not imagine. 

Gert. Well, what harm is there in it, mamma 
darling? [Caresses her.] I do wish you'd re- 
member we're in the year 1860 — and very near 
'61. You really must try to keep up with the 
times. Why, girls will be riding on the tops of 
omnibuses some day. 

Rose [protesting]. Gertrude! 

Mrs. R. I hope I sha'n't live to see it. [Enter 
Thompson, a young butler, from the hall. He col- 
lects the coffee cups, putting them all on a tray.] 

Gert. Is the hot-water apparatus working 
properly, Thompson? 

Thompson. Moderate, miss. 



14c MILESTONES 

Gert. [rather annoyed]. It ought to work per- 
fectly. 

Rose. What's the hot-water apparatus? 

Gert. It's for the bath-room, you know. 

Rose. Yes. I know you'd got a bath-room. 

Gert. It's just the latest device. John had it 
put in the week mother was down at Brighton. It 
was his Christmas surprise for her. 

Rose. Yes, but I don't understand. 

Gert. It's quite simple. We have a boiler be- 
hind the kitchen range, and pipes carry the hot 
water up to the bath. There's one tap for hot and 
another for cold. 

Rose. How wonderful! 

Gert. So when you want a hot bath all you 
have to do 

Mrs. R. [drily']. All we have to do is to tell 
cook to put down a shoulder of mutton to roast. 
Very modern ! 

Gert . [caressing her mother again] . Horrid old 
dear? Thompson, why is it working only moder- 
ately ? 

Thompson [by the door]. No doubt because 
cook had orders that the beef was to be slightly 
underdone, miss. [Exit quickly with tray.] 

Gert. [to Rose]. That was to please your car- 
nivorous daddy, Rose, and he never came. 

Mrs. R. I do hope there's been no trouble down 
at the foundry between him and my son. 

Rose. So do I. 



ACT I 15 

Gert. Why are you both pretending? You 
know perfectly well there has been trouble between 
them. You must have noticed the chilliness when 
our respective brothers met to-night. 

Rose. I assure you, Gertrude, I know nothmg. 
Sam said not a single word in the carriage. 

Gert. Well, wasn't that enough? Or does he 
never speak in the carriage? 

Rose [to Mrs. Rhead\. Has John said any- 
thing? 

Mrs. R. I understood you to say that the rea- 
son your father didn't come to dinner was that he 
had an urgent appointment, quite unexpectedly, 
at the last moment. 

Rose. Yes, he asked me to tell you and make 
his excuses. 

Gert. Urgent appointment at his club — most 
likely I 

Mrs. R. I wonder what the trouble can have 
been. 

Gert. You don't, mother. You know! It's 
the old story — Sam and his father with their set 
ideas, pulling one way; and John with his go- 
ahead schemes, pulling the other — with the 
result 

Mrs. R. The result is that we've had one of 
the most mournful dinners to-night that I have 
ever had the pleasure of giving. 

Gert. I know! What a good thing we asked 
Ned Pym. If he hadn't come to the rescue with his 



16 MILESTONES 

usual facetious, senseless chatter, I do believe Sam 
and John 

Mrs. R. [quickly, stopping her~\. Here are the 
gentlemen! Gertrude, take that cloak off. [En- 
& ^rom the hall Samuel Sibley, Ned Pym, and 
John Rhead. Samuel Sibley is twenty-eight, 
heavy, with a serious face, a trifle pompous, but 
with distinct dignity. Ned Pym, who is a little 
over twenty, is the young dandy of the day; hand- 
some, tall, with excellent manners, which allow him 
to carry off his facetious attitude rather success- 
fully. John Rhead comes last. He is twenty- 
five, full of determination and purpose. He knows 
what he wants and is going to get it.'] 

Mrs. R. [in a smooth tone to Rose]. Have you 
seen the new number of " Great Expectations," 
dear? 

Ned. What's this, Gertrude? Charades? 

Gert. [flouncing her cloak half defiantly at 
Sam]. Paris! 

Ned [coming between Sam and Gertrude]. 
Evidently it has lost nothing on the journey 
over. 

Gert. Ned, would you mind . . . I'm 
showing it to Sam. [To Sam.] Don't you like 
it? 

Sam [forcing himself]. On my betrothed, yes. 

Ned [facetiously]. By the exercise of extreme 
self-control the lover conceals his enthusiasm for 
the cloak of his mistress. 



ACT I 17 

Gert. [appealing to Sam]. But you do like it 
— don't you ? 

Sam [evasively]. Isn't it rather original? 

Gert. Of course it is. That's just the poir' 

Sam [surprised]. Just the point? 

Gert. [taking the cloak off and flinging it half 
pettishly on a chair] . Oh ! 

John. It's original, and therefore it has com- 
mitted a crime. [Looking at Sam.] Isn't that it, 
Sam? 

Sam [gives John a look and turns to Mrs. Rhead 
with an obvious intention of changing the conver- 
sation]. What were you saying about w Great 
Expectations," Mrs. Rhead? 

Mrs. R. [at a loss]. What were we saying 
about " Great Expectations " ? 

Ned. Well, I can tell you one thing about it; 
it's made my expectations from my uncle smaller 
than ever. [He sits by Mrs. Rhead.] 

Mrs. R. Oh, how is dear Lord Monkhurst? 

Ned. He's very well and quarrelsome, thank 
you. And his two sons, my delightful cousins, are 
also in excellent health. Well, as I was going to 
tell you; you know how my uncle has turned 
against Dickens since " Little Dorrit." I hap- 
pened to say something about " Great Expecta- 
tions " being pretty fairish, and he up and rode 
over me like a troop of cavalry. 

Mrs. R. [puzzled] . A troop of cavalry ? 

Ned. It was at his Christmas party, too, worse 



18 MILESTONES 

luck. He as good as told me I disagreed with him 
on purpose to annoy him. Now I cannot agree 
with him solely and simply because he allows me 
seven hundred a year, can I? 

Rose, Is he so difficult to get on with? 

Ned. Difficult? He's nothing but a faddist! 
An absolute old faddist! What can you do with 
a man that's convinced that spirits '11 turn his din- 
ing-table, and that Bacon wrote Shakespeare; and 
that the Benecia Boy's a better man than Tom 
Sayers ? 

Mrs. R. It seems a great pity you cannot do 
something to please your uncle. 

Ned. Would you believe it? He even wanted 
me to join the Rifle Volunteers. Now, I ask you, 
can you see me in the Rifle Volunteers, me among 
a lot of stockbrokers and chimney-sweeps? 

Gert. We cannot, Ned. 

Ned. And in order to raise my patriotism last 
night — [Slapping his knee violently.'] By Jove! 
[He jumps up.] By Heavens ! Jiggered ! Jig- 
gered ! 

Gert . and Rose. Ned ! 

Ned. I am a ruined man ! You see before you, 
kind friends, a man ruined and without hope ! 
Last night my uncle sent me a ticket for the 
launching of the " Warrior." 

Sam [with a sneer] . The " Warrior " ! You 
didn't miss much ! 

Ned. But my beloved aunt was commanded to 



ACT I 19 

be in attendance on Her Royal Highness at the 
said function. . . . Well, I forgot all about 
it. I repeat I forgot all about it. My uncle will 
certainly call this the last straw. There will 
be no quarterly cheque for me on New Year's 
Day. 

Rose. What is " The Warrior "? 

John [bursting out~\. The "Warrior" is a 
steam-frigate — first vessel of the British Navy to 
be built entirely of iron. She's over six thousand 
tons burden, and she represents the beginning of a 
new era in iron. 

Rose [adoringly']. How splendid 1 

John [responding quickly to her mood]. Ah, 
you agree with me! 

Rose [enthusiastically]. Of course! [She 
breaks off self-consciously.] Of course I agree 
with you. 

John [after a slight pause — quickly]. This 
29th of December marks a great day in the history 
of the British Navy. 

Sam [with a slight superior smile, trying to be 
gay]. Nonsense. All this day marks is the folly 
of the Admiralty. You may take it as an absolute 
rule that whatever the Admiralty does is wrong. 
Always has been, always will be. The " Great 
Eastern " was the champion White Elephant of 
the age. And now the " Warrior " has gone her 
one better. 

John. Sam, you don't know what you're say- 



20 MILESTONES 

ing. How can you talk about the " Warrior " 
when you've never even so much as laid eyes on the 
ship ? 

Sam, Well, have you? 

John, Yes — I went to the launch to-day. 

Sam. You? 

Mrs, R, Why did you go, John? You never 
said a word to me. 

John, I went on business. 

Sam, You told me you had an appointment 
with the bank. 

John, I only said that because I couldn't stop 
to argue just then. 

Sam, So you said what wasn't so. 

John, I said what was necessary at the mo- 
ment. I wasn't going to leave you in the dark; 
never fear. 

Sam [curtly controlling himself], I see. [A 
slight pause, then Sam turns abruptly to Gertrude 
and says gently] Come and sing, dear. I 
haven't heard you sing for over a fortnight. 

Gert, [moved by the quarrel — after a pause in 
a low voice]. What shall I sing? 

Sam, Sing " Nita, Juanita." 

Gert. No! I heard Madame Sainton Dolby 
sing it last week. 

Sam. Do ! — to please me. [Gertrude turns 
towards the double doors and goes off in silence 
with Sam. Ned is about to follow instantly, but 
Mrs. Rhead stops him.] 



ACT I 21 

Mrs. R. [whispering}. Give them just one in- 
stant alone. 

Ned. I beg pardon. My innocence at fault. 
[The song is heard.] [A pause.] Is that long 
enough? [Mrs. Rhead taps him, then she goes off 
after the others, followed by Ned. A slight 
pause.] 

Rose [moving towards the doors]. What a 
lovely voice she has ! 

John [abruptly, closing the doors]. I want to 
talk to you. 

Rose [nervous and self-conscious]. To me? 
John. I wish I'd asked you to come to that 
launch. 

Rose. Where was it? 

John. At Greenhithe ; only two stations beyond 
the foundry. Would you have come? 

Rose. I should have loved to ... if Ger- 
trude had come too. 

John [musing]. You should have seen her go 
into the water — the wave she made! All that 
j ron — an d rivets I Iron, mind you. . . . 
And then float like a cork. I never was at a launch 
before, and it gave me a thrill, I can tell you. 
And I'm not easily thrilled. 

Rose [adoringly, but restraining herself]. I'm 
sure you're not. I do wish I'd seen it. It must 
have been almost sublime. 

John. You'd have understood. You'd have 
felt like I did. Do you know how I know that? 



22 MILESTONES 

Rose [shaking her head]. No 

John. By the way you said " how splendid " 
when I was telling the others just now. 

Rose. Really ! 

John. Fact! That gave me more encourage- 
ment in my schemes than any words I ever heard. 

Rose. Please don't say that. Gertrude is al- 
ways on your side. She's so like you in every way. 

John. Yes, Gertrude's all right. But she's got 
no poetry in her, Gertrude hasn't. That's the dif- 
ference between you and her. She's very go- 
ahead; but she doesn't feel. You feel. 

Rose [breathless]. Do I, John? [She looks 
down.] 

John. I'll tell you something — tears came 
into my eyes when that frigate took the water. 
Couldn't help it! [Rose raises her eyes to his.] 
In thirty years every big ship in the world will 
be built of iron. Very few people to-day believe 
in iron for ship-building, and I know there's a 
lot of silly, easy sarcasm about it — especially in 
the papers. But it's coming! It's coming! 

Rose [religiously]. I'm sure you're right. 

John. If only your father and your brother 
thought as you do ! 

Rose [faintly]. Yes. 

John. I'm in the minority, you see; two part- 
ners against one. If my father had lived, I know 
which side he'd have been on! I shouldn't have 
been in the minority then. 



ACT I 23 

Rose. You'd have been equal. 

John [enthusiastically]. No! We should cer- 
tainly have rolled your excellent father and 
brother straight into the Thames ! 

Rose [amiably protesting]. Please 

John [smiling]. Forgive me — you know what 
I mean, don't you? 

Rose. I love to see you when you are enthusi- 
astic ! 

John. It's so plain. We've got probably the 
largest iron foundry on Thames-side. But our 
business isn't increasing as quickly as it used to 
do. It can't. We've come to about the limit of 
expansion on present lines. Ship-building is sim- 
ply waiting for us. There it is — asking to be 
picked up ! We're in iron. We know all about 
iron. The ships of the future will be built of 
nothing but iron. And we're right in the middle 
of the largest port in the world. What more can 
anyone want? But no! They won't see it! 
They — will — not — see — it ! 

Rose. I wonder why they won't ! 

John. Simply because they can't. 

Rose. Then one oughtn't to blame them. 

John. Blame them! Good Heavens, no! I 
don't blame them. I'm fond of them, and I rather 
feel for them. But that's just why I want to 
smash them to smithereens ! They've got to yield. 
The people who live in the past must yield to the 
people who live in the future. Otherwise, the 



m MILESTONES 

earth would begin to turn the other way round, 
and we should be back again in the eighteenth cen- 
tury before we knew where we were, making for the 
Middle Ages. 

Rose. Then you think a conflict is unavoid- 
able? 

John. Absolutely unavoidable! That's the 
point. It's getting nearer every hour. . . . 
Why is your father not here to-night? 

Rose. I don't know, but I was afraid 

John. I know and Sam knows. It must be be- 
cause he has heard somehow of an enterprise I am 
planning, and the news has upset him. He's 
vexed. 

Rose. Poor dear old thing! Then you've 
started a scheme already? 

John [nods]. I have. But I can't carry it 
out alone. 

Rose. If there is one man in the world who 
could stand alone, I should have said you were that 
man. 

John. I know. That's the impression I give. 
And yet nobody ever needed help more than I do. 
I'm not all on the surface, you know. 

Rose. What sort of help ? 

John. Sympathy — understanding. 

Rose [low~\. I see. 

John. Of course you see! And that's why I 
suddenly decided I must have a bit of a chat with 
you — this very night. It's forced on me. And I 



ACT I 25 

feel I'm rather forcing it on you. But I can't 
help it — honestly I can't. Rose, you're on my 
side, aren't you? 

Rose, I believe you're in the right. 

John. Would you like to see me win — [sir 
lence~\ — or lose ? 

Rose. I don't think I could bear to see you 
beaten. 

John. Well, then, help me! When you look 
at me with that trustful look of yours, I can do 
anything — anything. No other woman's eyes 
ever had the same effect on me. It's only because 
you believe in me. No, that isn't the only reason ; 
it isn't the chief reason. The chief reason is that 
I'm in love with you — there you have it I 

Rose [sinking her hea&\ Oh! 

John [coming to her\. Curious! I've known 
you all my life. But I wasn't aware of all that 
you meant to me, until these difficulties began. 
You're essential to me. You can't imagine how 
much depends on just you! 

Rose. Really ? 

John. You're too modest, too womanly to 
realise it. Why, sometimes a tone of yours, a 
mere inflection, almost knocks me over — You 
aren't crying, surely? What are you crying 
for? 

Rose. It's too much for me, coming like this, 
with no warning. 

John. Rose, be mine! I'll work for you, I'll 



26 MILESTONES 

succeed for you. No woman in this country shall 
have a finer position than yours. 

Rose, I don't want a fine position — except for 
you. 

John. I'm not hard, really. 

Rose. But I like you to be hard. It's when 
you're inflexible and brutal that I like you the 
most. 

John. Then you do like me a little — some- 
times? [Kisses her hands.] 

Rose. I can't help telling you. I didn't hope 
for this. Yes, I did. But the hope seemed ab- 
surd. Is this real — now ? 

John. My love! 

Rose. John, you say I don't realise how much 
I mean to you. Perhaps I do though. But it's 
impossible for you to realise how I want to give 
my life to you, to serve you. No man could 
realise that. A woman could. I shall be your 
slave. [John looks at her with a little start.] 
Yes, I know it sounds queer for me to be talking 
like this. But I must. It thrills me to tell you. 
. . . I shall be your slave. 

John. Don't make me afraid, my darling ! 

Rose. Afraid ? 

John. Afraid of being unworthy. 

Rose. Please. . . . [A slight pause.] 
Has the singing stopped? 

John. A long time ago. 

Rose. They'll be coming in, perhaps. 



ACT I 27 

John [vaguely without conviction]. No. 

Rose. What will your mother and Gertrude 

say? 

John. You know as well as I do, they'll be abso- 
lutely delighted. 

Rose. And father? 

John [alertly]. Rose, you're mine, whatever 
happens ? 

Rose. Oh, nothing must happen now! Noth- 
ing shall happen I 

John. But suppose I couldn't carry out my 
scheme without quarrelling with your father? 
And he refused his consent to our being married? 

Rose. My heart would be yours for ever and 
ever. But I couldn't marry without father's con- 
sent. 

John. But 

Rose. I couldn't 

John. Why not? 
Rose. It would not be right. 
John. But you love me? 

Rose. Yes, but I love father, too. And he's 
getting very old. And he's very dependent on me. 
In any case to give me up would be a great sac- 
rifice for him. To lose me against his will — well, 
I don't know what would happen ! 

John. As things are just now — he's bound to 
refuse. 

Rose. But are you so sure he won't have any- 
thing to do with your scheme? 



28 MILESTONES 

John. You heard Sam! 

Rose. Yes; but you haven't discussed your 
plans very thoroughly with Sam. He seemed 
quite surprised. 

John. Suppose I speak to Sam to-night; tell 
him everything. At any rate, I shall know then 
where I stand. 

Rose. To-night? 

John. Now! I might win him over. Any- 
how, he'll do what he can to make things smooth 
for us with your father — surely ! After all, he's 
engaged to Gertrude! 

Rose. Just as you think best. . . . And 
Sam's very fond of me, though he never shows it. 

John. Let me get it over now, instantly. Will 
you go in to the others? [Rose looks at him in 
silence, then rises and goes to the double doors. 
John stops her and solemnly and passionately 
kisses her, then opens the doors and she passes 
through.] 

John [calling into the other room], I say, 
Sam! Mother, I want a word with Sam alone. 
[Samuel enters by the double doors. John closes 
them behind him.] 

Sam [suspicious, and not over friendly]. What 
is it? Not business, I hope? 

John [with a successful effort to be cordial]. 
No, no! 

Sam [following John's lead, and to make con- 



ACT I 29 

versation], I was wondering what you and Rosie 
were palavering about. 

John. Samuel, you've gone right into the 
bull's-eye at the first shot — Sam. I've just been 
through a very awkward moment. 

Sam, Oh, I see ! That's it, is it? 

John. I've made a proposal of marriage to my 
partner's sister. Startling, ain't it? 

Sam, No ! If you care to know, I was talking 
to your mother about it last week. 

John. About what? 

Sam. About the betting odds — whether it was 
more likely to come off this year or next. Your 
mother was right, and I was wrong — by a couple 
of days. 

John [startled]. But you'd none of you the 
slightest ground. I've never shown — Certainly 
Rose has never shown 

Sam [teasingly]. No, of course not. But you 
know how people will gossip, and jump to con- 
clusions, don't you? I know, I went through it 
myself, not very long ago either. I remember the 
clever way in which you all knew about it before 
I'd got half-way to the end of my first sentence. 

John. Sam, you're devilish funny. 

Sam. Even the dullest old Tory is funny once 
in his life. Am I right in assuming that Rose did 
not unconditionally refuse your offer? 

John. She did me the honour to accept it. 



30 MILESTONES 

Sam. I must confess I'm not entirely surprised 
that she didn't spurn you. 

John. All right, old cock. Keep it up. I 
don't mind. But when you're quite done, you 
might congratulate me. 

Sam [not effusively]. I do, of course. 

John. I suppose you'll admit, even as a 
brother, that I'd have to go rather far before I 
met a woman with half Rose's qualities. 

Sam. Yes, Rosie's all right. Of course she's 
cold; she hasn't got what I call poetry in her. 
That's the difference between her and Gertrude. 

John [facing him]. Do you honestly think 
Rose has no poetry in her? Rose? 

Sam. Easy does it, my tulip I Have it your 
own way! 

John [good humouredly]. I suppose where 
sisters are concerned, all brothers are alike. 

Sam. Well, I'm looking at one. We're a pair. 

John. Shake! [They shake hands, Sam 
rather perfunctorily.] Now, Sam, I'm going to 
rely on you. 

Sam. What for? 

John. I don't think you had any fault to find 
with my attitude towards your engagement, had 
you? I welcomed it with both arms. Well, I 
want you to do the same with me. 

Sam. But, my dear fellow, I'm nobody in the 
affair. You're the head of a family; I'm not. 



ACT I 31 

John. But you have enormous influence with 
the head of a family, my boy. 

Sam [rather falsely]. Why! Are you antici- 
pating trouble with the governor? 

John. I'm not anticipating it — but you know 
as well as I do — probably much better — that he 
ain't very friendly disposed this last day or two. 
The plain truth is — he's sulking. Now why ? 
Nothing whatever has passed between us except 
just every-day business. 

Sam. Well, the fact is, he suspects you're keep- 
ing something nasty up your sleeve for him. 

John. Has he told you? 

Sam [somewhat pugnaciously]. Yes, he has. 

John. And what is it I'm supposed to have up 
my sleeve? 

Sam. Look here, Jack. I'm not here to be 
cross-examined. If there's anything up your 
sleeve, you're the person to know what it is. It's 
not my sleeve we're talking about. Why don't you 
play with the cards on the table? 

John. I'm only too anxious to play with the 
cards on the table. 

Sam. Then it is business you really wanted to 
talk about after all! 

John [movement of irritation concealed]. I 
expect your father's heard about me and Macleans, 
though how it's got abroad I can't imagine. 

Sam. Macleans? Macleans of Greenhithe? 



S2 MILESTONES 

John. Yes. That's what's worrying the old 
man, isn't it? 

Sam. I don't know. 

John. He hasn't mentioned Macleans to you? 

Sam. He has not. He isn't a great talker, you 
know. He merely said to me he suspected you 
were up to something. 

John. And what did you say? 

Sam. Briefly, I said I thought you were. 
[Disgustedly."] But, by gad! I never dreamed 
you were hobnobbing with the Maclean gang. 

John. Macleans are one of the oldest ship- 
building firms in the South of England. I went 
to the launch to-day with Andrew Maclean. 

Sam. What's ship-building got to do with 
us? 

John. It's got nearly everything to do with us. 
Or it will have. Now listen, Sammy. I've ar- 
ranged a provisional agreement for partnership 
between Macleans and ourselves. 

Sam. You've 

John. Half a minute. Macleans are rather 
flattered at the idea of a connection with the august 
firm of Sibley, Rhead and Sibley. 

Sam. By God! I should think they were. 
[Walks away.] 

John. Thej^'ve had an output of over 25,000 
tons this year. All wood. Naturally they want 
to go in for iron. They'll pay handsomely for 
our help and experience. In fact, I've got a draft 



ACT I 33 

agreement, my boy, that is simply all in our favour. 

Sam. Did you seriously suppose 

John. Let me finish. It's a brilliant agree- 
ment. In three years it'll mean the doubling of 
our business. And we shall have the satisfaction 
of being well-established in the great industry of 
the future. Your father's old. I don't expect 
him to be very enthusiastic about a new scheme. 
But you're young, and you can influence him. 
He'll be retiring soon, and you and I will be to- 
gether — just the two of us. We're marrying 
each other's sisters. And we shall divide an enor- 
mous fortune, my boy. 

Sam. And have you had the impudence to try 
to make an agreement behind our backs? 

John [controlling himself], I've made no 
agreement. I've only got the offer. It's open to 
you to refuse or accept. I only held my tongue 
about it so as to keep the job as easy as possible. 

Sam. You had no right to approach anyone 
without consulting us. 

John. I was going to tell you to-morrow. But 
I guessed from your father's attitude these last 
two days that something had leaked out. That's 
why I'm telling you first, Sam — to-night. Come 
now, look at the thing calmly — reasonably. 
Don't condemn it offhand. A very great deal 
depends on your decision — more than you 
think. 

Sam. I don't see that anything particular de- 



34 MILESTONES 

pends on my decision. If we refuse, we refuse. 
And we shall most decidedly refuse. 

John, But it's impossible you should be so 
blind to the future 1 Impossible ! 

Sam. See here, John! Don't you make the 
mistake of assuming that any man who doesn't 
happen to agree with you is a blind fool. To 
begin with, it isn't polite. I know you do think 
we're blind, old-fashioned, brainless dolts, father 
and I. We've both felt that for some time. 

John, I think you're blind to the future of iron 
ships, that's all. 

Sam, Well, shall I tell you what we think of 
you? We think you've got a bee in your bonnet. 
That's all. We think you're a faddist in the style 
of Ned Pym's noble uncle! 

John [his lips curling]. Me like Lord Monk- 
hurst! Ha! 

Sam. Precisely. Don't you go and imagine 
that all the arguments are on one side. They 
aren't. Five-sixths of the experts in England 
have no belief whatever in the future of iron ships. 
You know that! Iron ships indeed! And what 
about British oak? Would you build ships of the 
self-same material as bridges? Why not stone 
ships, then? Oh, yes, I know there's a number 
of faddists up and down the land — anything in 
the nature of a novelty is always bound to attract 
a certain type of brain. Unfortunately we hap- 
pen to have that type of brain just now in the 



ACT I 35 

Cabinet. I quite agree with my father that the 
country is going to the dogs. Another Reform 
Bill this year I And actually an attempt to repeal 
the paper duty. But, of course, people who be- 
lieve in iron ships would naturally want to unsettle 
the industrial classes by a poisonous flood of cheap 
newspapers ! However, we've had enough common- 
sense left to knock both those schemes on the head. 
And I've no doubt the sagacity of the country will 
soon also put an end to this fantastic notion of 
iron ships. 

John [quietly]. I see. 

Sam. Oh, don't think I'm not fond of iron! 
Iron means as much to me as it does to you. But 
I flatter myself I can keep my balance. [More 
quietly.] We didn't expect this of you, John, 
with your intellect. 

John [as before]. Very well. 

Sam. I've made it clear, haven't I? 

John. Quite. 

Sam. That's all right. 

John [still quietly']. Only I shall dissolve part- 
nership. 

Sam. Dissolve partnership? What for? 

John. I shall go on with Macleans alone. 

Sam. You don't mean it. 

John. I mean every single word of it! [He 
rises. They look at each other.] 

Sam. Then I can tell you one thing. You 
won't marry Rosie. 



36 MILESTONES 

John. Why sha'n't I marry Rosie? 

Sam. After such treachery. 

John [raising his voice]. Treachery! I 
merely keep my own opinion — I leave you to 
yours. 

Sam. Do you think father will let you drag 
Rose into this fatuous scheme of yours? Do you 
think he'll give his daughter to a traitor? 

John [sarcastic and cold]. Don't get on stilts. 
[Then suddenly bursting out.] And what has 
my marriage got to do with you? When I want 
your father's opinion, I'll go to your father for 
it. 

Sam. Don't try to browbeat me, John. I 
know my father's mind, and what's more, you 
know I know it. And I repeat, my father will 
never let his daughter marry a 

John [shouting]. Silence! [Enter Mrs. Rhe ad 
by the double doors, followed by Ned Pym, Ger- 
trude and Rose. The women remain silent.] 

Ned [facetiously coming forward]. Why si- 
lence? Go on. We've only come in because we 
thought it might interest us. What's it all about? 
A hint will suffice. 

John. Ned, you're a blundering donkey, and 
you will be a blundering donkey to the end of your 
life. 

Ned. My one desire is to please. 

Gert. [coming to Sam, in a quiet, firm tone]. 
Sam, what's the matter? 



ACT I 37 

Sam. Nothing ! We must go ! Rosie, get 
ready. [Very respectfully to Mrs. Rhead.] I'm 
sorry to break up the evening. 

Gert. But you can't go like this. 

Sam [with deference']. My dear Gertrude, 
please leave matters to your brother and me. 
You're a woman, and there are things 

Gert. [stopping him']. It is possible I am a 
woman, but I'm a reasonable creature, and I intend 
to be treated as such. 

Mrs. R. [very upset]. My dear child, remember 
you are speaking to your future husband. 

Gert. That's just why I'm speaking as I am. I 
ask Sam what's the matter — [scornfully] — and 
he says " Nothing." Am I a child? Are we all 
children ? 

Sam [curtly]. Come, now, Rose. 

Gert. And why must Rose go off like this? 
She's engaged to John. 

Sam. Who told you? 

Gert. Her eyes told me when she came out of 
this room. 

Mrs. R. We all knew it, and no word said. 
We've been expecting it for weeks. [Mrs. Rhead 
and Rose embrace.] 

Sam. You are mistaken, Gertrude. Rose is not 
engaged to John, and she is not likely to be. 

Gert. You object? 

Sam. I do, and I know my father well. 

Gert. You ob j ect to John for a brother-in-law ? 



38 MILESTONES 

John ! Why? — You might at least condescend to 
tell Rosie, if not me. It's an affair that rather 
interests her, you see. 

Sam. If you must know, John is going to leave 
our firm. 

Mrs.R. 'John? 

Sam. He thinks my father and I are old-fash- 
ioned, and so he's leaving us. 

Mrs. R. John! Leave the firm? Surely 
you're not thinking of breaking up Rhead and Sib- 
ley? 

Sam. Sibley, Rhead — and Sibley. 

Mrs. R. It was Rhead and Sibley in my young 
days, when your father and John's were founding 
it. John, you cannot mean it ! 

Sam [sarcastically]. He's going to build iron 
ships. 

Gert. And is that any reason why you should 
make poor Rosie unhappy and spoil her life? 

Sam. I do not propose to argue. 

Gert. The man who does not propose to argue 
with me is not going to be my husband. 

Mrs. R. Gertrude ! 

Gert. {looking at Sam"]. I mean it. [Sam 
bows.] 

Mrs. R. Please don't listen to her, Sam. 

Sam. All my apologies, Mrs. Rhead. 

Gert. And you, Rosie, what do you say to all 
this? 



ACT I 39 

Rose [humbly and tearfully], I — I hardly 
understand. Sam, what is the matter? 

John [coming to Rose]. It's quite simple. I 
believe in the future of iron ships and I have the 
courage of my convictions. Therefore you are not 
to be allowed to marry me. You see the connection 
is perfectly clear. But you shall marry me, all the 
same! 

Sam [confidently]. You don't know my sister. 

Ned [to Sam, facetiously]. And you don't 
know John. 

Sam [turning to Ned, firmly], Ned, go and 
order my carriage, there's a good fellow. 

Ned [going off by the door into the hall]. Oh, 
very well. [He closes the door behind him.] 

Mrs. R. John, John, why are you so set in 
your own ideas? Everything was going perfectly 
smoothly. We were all so happy. And now you 
must needs fall out with your partners over iron 
ships. Do you prefer your iron ships to Rose's 
happiness and your own ? Is everything to be sac- 
rificed to iron ships? 

John, There need be no question of sacrifice, 
if 

Sam. If you can have it your own way. Of 
course. Mrs. Rhead, your son wants to risk the 
ruin of all of us. Now, so far as we Sibleys are 
concerned, we won't allow him to do so. If he 
still persists in his purpose, very well, that's his 



40 MILESTONES 

look-out. Only — he can hardly be surprised if 
Rose's family object — and very strongly — to 
letting him make her his wife. One does not en- 
trust one's daughter or one's sister to a traitor. 

Gert. Sam, don't be childish! 

Sam [drawing himself up]. I beg your par- 
don. 

Mrs. R. John, I'm your mother. Listen to me. 
Give up this idea of yours. For my sake — for 
the sake of all of us. 

John. I cannot. 

Mrs. R. But if it means so much unhappiness. 

John. I should be ashamed of myself if I gave 
it up. I believe in it. It's my religion. 

Mrs. R. John, I beg you not to be profane. 

John [a little quieter]. I cannot give up my 
idea, mother. I should be a coward to give it up. 
I should be miserable for the rest of my days. I 
could never look anyone in the face, not even my 
wife. [Enter Ned from the hall.] 

Ned [to Sam in a flunkey's voice]. Carriage is 
waiting, my lord. 

Sam. Now, Rose ! Good evening, Mrs. Rhead. 

Gert. Just a moment. [Drawing a ring off 
her finger] . Ned ! Hand this ring to Mr. Sibley 
with my compliments. 

Ned. Must I? 

Gert. Yes. 

Ned [taking the ring]. The donkey becomes a 
beast of burden. [Handing ring to Sam.] Sam, 



ACT I 41 

you get this, but you lose something that's worth 
a lot more. 

Sam [taking the ring~\. Of course I have no al- 
ternative. 

Rose. Good-bye John. 

Mrs. R. John, she's going. Will you let her? 

John [rigidly]. I cannot give up my idea. 

Sam [going into the hall as Rose stands hesi- 
tating']. Come along, child. I'm waiting. 

Rose [moving a step towards John]. Stick to 
your idea ! Let me go ! I love you all the more 
for it ! 

John. Don't worry, Rose. The future is on 
our side. 

Rose [looking straight at him]. I [Her 

emotion gets the better of her; she turns quickly 
and hurries from the room.] 

Gert. [blankly, in spite of herself]. The fu- 
ture ! [She sinks down on a sofa and bursts into 
sobs. John stands, looking after Rose.] 



[Curtain,] 



ACT II 

1885 

The Scene represents the same drawing-room as 
in Act I. But twenty-five years have passed. 
We are now in the year 1885. Consequently 
great changes have occurred. The furni- 
ture has been re-arranged and added to. 
The flowered carpet of the first Act has given 
place to an Indian carpet. There are new 
ornaments amongst some of the old ones. 
The room is over-crowded with furniture in 
the taste of the period. 

It is about four o'clock of an afternoon in June. 
The curtains are drawn back and the sun is 
shining brightly outside. 

[Rose Sibley, now Mrs. JohnRhead, forty-six years 
of age and dressed in the fashion of 1885, her 
hair slightly grey at the temples, is seated writ- 
ing some notes at a desk near the windows.'] 
[Ned Pym enters from the hall, followed by 
John Rhead. The former has developed into 
a well-preserved, florid, slightly self-sufficient 
man of forty-six. The latter, now fifty, has 
not changed so much physically except that his 
hair is grey and his features have become much 



ACT II 4>S 

-firmer. But his manner has grown even more 
self-assured than it was in the first Act. He 
is in fact a person of authority; the successful 
man whose word is law.] 

John. Oh, you are there, Rosie. I've brought 
a person of importance to see you. 

Rose [rising]. Ned [They shake hands.] 

Ned. Now please don't say what you were go- 
ing to say. 

Rose. And what was I going to say? 

Ned. That I'm quite a stranger since I came 
into the title. 

Rose [curtseying and teasing]. Lord Monk- 
hurst, we are only too flattered — I was merely go- 
ing to say that you look younger than ever. 

Ned [seriously]. Don't I? That's what every- 
one says. Time leaves me quite unchanged, don't 
you know. 

John. In every way. How old are you, Ned? 

Ned [with a sigh]. Well, I shall never see thirty 
again. 

John. What about forty? 

Ned. Or forty either. But my proud boast is 
I'm nearer forty than fifty. 

John. Well, it can only be by a couple of 
months. 

Ned. Sh 1 — It's a lot more than you say, Jack. 

John. I was fifty in April. There's just five 
years' difference between us. 



44 MILESTONES 

Rose [to Ned]. You look more like John's son. 

Ned. Say nephew ; don't be too hard on him. 

Rose. But I do wish you would go out of 
mourning. It doesn't suit you. 

Ned. Not these beautiful continuations? 

Rose. No ! 

Ned. Well, I'm awfully sorry. But I can't 
oblige you yet. Please remember I've got three 
sudden deaths to work off. I think that when a 
man loses a harsh but beloved uncle in a carriage 
accident, and two amiable cousins through a mis- 
understanding about toadstools, all in twelve 
months, why — [gesture] — the least he can do is 
to put himself unreservedly into the hands of his 
tailor. 

Rose. I 

John [stopping her, kindly but rather tyranni- 
cally]. Now enough of this graceful badinage. 
Ned and I are here on business. What are you up 
to, there, Rose? 

Rose [with eager submissiveness]. I was doing 
the invitations for the dinner, or rather for the 
reception. 

John. Good. I've got some more names in my 
study. You'd better come in there with me. 

Rose. Yes, love. 

Ned. Am I invited to this dinner? I generally 
get very hungry about eight o'clock at nights. 

Rose [teasing]. Yes, I think I put you down. 
It's our wedding-day. 



ACT II 45 

Ned. Don't tell me how long you've been mar- 
ried. It would age me ! 

Rose. Considering that we have a daughter 
who is turned twenty-two. 

John. Yes, Ned, you must face the facts 
bravely. Old Mr. Sibley died in January, 
1860 

Rose. Sixty-one, love. 

John [after a frown at being corrected']. 
Sixty-one. And we were married in June of the 
following year. Surely you recall the face Sam 
pulled when he gave my little Rosie away. 

Rose. But, love, it was a great concession for 
him to give me away at all, wasn't it ? 

John. Oh, yes ! 

Rose. By the bye, he's coming up to town this 
afternoon. 

John. What, here? 

Ned. Oh ! But I ought to see old Sam. 

Rose. Stay for tea, and you'll see him and his 
wife, too. 

Ned. His wife? His what did you say? 

Rose. Now, Ned, it's no use pretending you 
don't know all about it. 

Ned. I remember hearing a couple of years 
ago, before I went to India, that Sam had stag- 
gered his counting-house by buying one of these 
new type-writing machines, and getting a young 
woman to work it for him. 

Rose. That's the person. Her name is Nancy. 



46 MILESTONES 

Ned, Is it? Only fancy; Nancy, Nancy, in 
the counting-house! I say — are these girl-clerks 
or clerk-girls going to be a regular thing? What's 
coming over the world? 

John [shakes his head]. Passing craze! Goes 
with all this Votes-for-Women agitation and so 
on. You'll see, it won't last a year — not a year ! 
Of course, Sam — susceptible bachelor of fifty 
and over — just the man to fall a victim. In- 
evitable ! 

Rose. She's a very well-meaning, honest crea- 
ture. 

Ned. You intimate with her, Rose? 

Rose. I went to see her several times after she 
had her baby. They're living at Brockley. 

Ned. Baby! Brockley! No more typewrit- 
ing then. The typewriter has served its turn — 
eh? Of course it was a great catch for her. 

John. Yes, but it wouldn't have been if Sam- 
uel hadn't sold out. 

Ned. How much did he retire with about? 

John. Well, you see he was losing three thou- 
sand a year. He got £20,000 net cash. 

Ned. I'm not a financier, but £20,000 cash in 
exchange for a loss of £3,000 a year doesn't seem 
so bad! Think of the money he'd have made 
though, if he'd taken up with your ideas ! 

John [ironically]. You recollect the folly of 
iron ships? And the bee in my bonnet? [Laughs."] 
There were only four wooden steamships built in 



act ii m 

this country last year. The rest were iron ; and I 
was responsible for half a dozen of 'em. 

Ned. What's all this talk about steel for ships ? 

John [disdainfully]. Just talk. 

Ned. Well, of course, if you're building at the 
rate of six steamers a year, I can understand your 
generosity in the matter of subscriptions. 

Rose, He is generous, isn't he? 

Ned. Told your wife about your latest contri- 
bution? 

John. No, I was just going to. 

Rose [proudly] . John tells me everything. 

John. And Rosie always approves, don't you, 
Rosie ? Ah ! The new generation can't show such 
wives. 

Rose [eagerly]. Well? 

John. I've decided to give ten thousand pounds 
to the party funds — politics, you know. 

Ned. You see, it's to save the country. That's 
what it amounts to practically, in these days. 1 
know, since I've gone into politics. 

Rose. How noble ! I'm so glad, John. 

Ned. And the great secret — shall I tell her, or 
will you, Jack? 

John. Go on. 

Ned. How should you like your husband to be a 
baronet, Rose? 

Rose. A baronet? 

Ned. Sir John Rhead, Bart., and Lady Rhead! 

Rose [ecstatic]. Is he going to be? 



48 MILESTONES 

Ned. As soon as our side comes into power — 
and we shall be in power in a month. John '11 be on 
the next Honours' List. 

Rose. In a month ! 

Ned. The Budget's bound to be thrown out. 
They're trying to increase the taxes on beer and 
spirits — I've studied the question deeply. I know 
what will happen. 

Rose. How magnificent ! 

John. Then you approve? [Rose hisses John 
fondly']. That's all we've called in for, just to 
make sure. 

Rose [weeping']. I 

John. What's the matter? 

Rose. I'm only sorry we haven't had a son. 

Ned. There, there! I'm sure you did your 
best, Rose. 

Rose [to John]. Are they making you a bar- 
onet because you're giving ten thousand to the 
party funds? 

Ned. My dear woman ! Of course not ! 
That's pure coincidence. 

Rose [convinced]. Oh! 

Ned. Your beloved John will be made a baronet 
solely on account of his splendid services to com- 
merce. Doesn't he deserve it? 

Rose. No one better. Do you know, I can 
scarcely believe it. Who — ? Tell me all about 
it. 



ACT II 49 

John. Well, it's thanks to Ned in the first 
place. 

Rose. To Ned? 

Ned [pretending to be hurt]. You needn't be 
so surprised, Rose. You seem to be unaware that 
I've gone into politics. Don't you read the news- 
papers ? 

Rose. No, I leave the newspapers to my daugh- 
ter. 

Ned. If you did, you'd know that I made a 
sensation in the Indian Debate, in the House of 
Lords. All that Afghanistan business, don't you 
know. 

Rose. Really ! 

Ned. Oh, I became quite a Nob, at once. Bit 
of luck me having gone to India, wasn't it? I'd 
spent the best part of a month in India; so, of 
course, I knew all about it. 

Rose [solemnly]. Of course. 

Ned. The leader of the Opposition said I had a 
great future! 

John. No doubt. 

Ned [simply]. I shall specialise in India and 
the Navy. You see my father being a rear-ad- 
miral, I ought to be familiar with the subject. If 
fellows like me don't begin to take an interest in 
in our neglected Navy, England '11 be playing 
second fiddle to Russia in five years' time. Mark 
my word, in 1890. In 1890. 



50 MILESTONES 

Rose, Perhaps you'll be in the Government 
some day? 

Ned. There's no " perhaps " about it. I shall ! 
There's only one difficulty. 

Rose. What's that? 

Ned [mysteriously and important]. I'm told I 
ought to marry. 

John [rather self-consciously]. Nothing sim- 
pler. 

Ned. I know ! I've had seventeen indirect of- 
fers this last six months, and that's a fact. 

Rose. None suitable? 

Ned. I'm afraid of 'em. It's no joke going and 
marrying a perfect stranger. I want somebody 
I know — somebody I've known all my life, or at 
least all hers. 

Rose. And can't you find her? 

Ned. I can. I have done. 

Rose. Who is it, may one ask? 

Ned. Jack knows. 

John [turning to Rose and clearing his throat]. 
Ned would like to marry into our family, Rose. 

Ned [eagerly]. You know I've been dead sweet 
on Emily for a couple of years at least. 

Rose [after a pause]. I know you're very fond 
of her, and she of you. 

Ned [as above]. You think she is, really? 

Rose. But it seems so queer. 

John [peremptorily]. How queer? We're re- 
spectable enough for the young rascal, aren't we? 



ACT II 51 

Rose. Of course. It would be ideal — ideal! 
My poor little Emily ! 

Ned. Well, I've got that off my chest. I'll be 
moving. I must be at the Carlton at three-thirty 
to settle up John's business with the panjandrum. 

Rose. You'll come back for tea. She '11 be 
here. [Enter from the hall Emily and Gertrude. 
Both are dressed to go out. Emily is a handsome 
girl of twenty-two. She has fine qualities, com- 
bining her father's pluck with her mother's loving 
nature. But she has been rather spoilt by her 
parents. Gertrude follows. She has grown into 
a faded, acidy spinster with protective impulses for 
her niece, Emily, on whom she spends all her sup- 
pressed maternal feelings.] 

Emily [slightly disconcerted]. Why, father! 
How is it you aren't at the works this afternoon 
earning our bread-and-butter? 

John [delighted]. Such impertinence ! 

Rose. Emily, I really wonder at you ! What 
your grandmother Rhead would have said to 
such manners if she'd been alive, I daren't think. 
And Lord Monkhurst here, too ! 

Emily. Well, mamma, you see, grandmother 
isn't alive! [To Ned, who, after shaking hands 
with Gertrude, advances towards her]. And as 

for dear old Uncle Ned [Ned, John and 

Rose are all somewhat put about by this greeting. 
Ned hesitates, his hand half out.] Aren't you go- 
ing to shake hands, then? 



52 MILESTONES 

Ned [shaking hands] . Why " uncle " ? You've 
never called me uncle before? 

Emily. Haven't I? It seems to suit you. 

Ned. I'm severely wounded. And I shall retire 
into my wigwam until you make it up to me. 

Rose. You really are very pert, Emily. 

Emily [affectionately]. I should have thought 
you would adore being my uncle. I'm sure I like 
you lots more than I like Uncle Sam, for instance. 

Ned. That's better. I'm peeping out of my 
wigwam now. Only I won't be your uncle. I 
won't be anybody's uncle. I don't mind being 
your cousin, if that's any use to you. 

Gert. [sharply]. He's afraid of being taken 
for the same age as your auntie, darling. 

Ned [to Gertrude]. Half a moment, Gertrude, 
and I'll try to think of a compliment that will turn 
your flank. 

Gert. My flank, Ned? 

Ned. I mean 

Emily [to her parents and Ned]. Where were 
you all off to? 

Rose. Your father and I are going to the study. 

Ned. And I'm going on an errand, but I shan't 
be long. 

John. And may we ask where you and Auntie 
Gertrude are " off to," Miss Inquisitive? 

Gert . Oh, Mr. Preece is calling for us to take us 
to the Royal Academy. 

Emily. And then we shall have tea at the new 



ACT II 53 

Hotel Metropole, in Northumberland Avenue. It's 
the very latest thing. 

John [in a different tone]. Preece? But he 
was here last Sunday. 

Emily. Yes, it was then we arranged it. 
John. I don't like the idea of your seeing so 
much of Preece. And your mother doesn't like it, 
either. 

Rose. No, indeed! 

Gert. But why not? He's the cleverest man in 
your works. You've often said so. 

John. He may be the cleverest man in my 
works ; but he isn't going to be the cleverest man in 
my house. Who gave him leave to take half a day 
off, I should like to know ? 

Gert. He said he had business in the West 
End. 

Emily [to Ned]. Now if you want to make 
yourself useful as a cousin, please explain to these 
called-so parents that they oughtn't to spoil me 
one day, and rule me with a rod of iron the next. 
It's not fair. It's very bad for my disposition. 

Ned [to John]. Is this man-about-town the 
same Preece you were telling me of? 

Emily. There you are, you see! He tells 
everyone about Mr. Preece. He's as proud as 
Punch of Mr. Preece. 

John [more kindly]. Arthur Preece is a youth 
that I discovered in my drawing office. Last year 
I took out a patent for him for bending metal 



54 MILESTONES 

plates at a low temperature; and it's attracted 
some attention. But our relations are purely busi- 
ness. 

Gert. Still, it was you who first asked him to 
the house. 

John [drily]. It was. And Rose kept him for 
tea. It's all our fault as usual. However — 
[rising'] — you'll kindly tell Master Preece that 
you can't give yourselves the pleasure of his so- 
ciety this afternoon. 

Emily. But why? 

John [continuing]. And if he's obstreperous, 
inform him that I am in my study, and rather anx- 
ious to know exactly what his business in the West 
End is. 

Emily [insisting]. But why, father? 

John [firmly]. Simply because your mother 
and I wish you to be in this afternoon. Uncle 
Sam and Aunt Nancy are coming, for one thing. 

Emily [disdainfully]. Uncle Sam! Aunt 
Nancy ! 

Rose. Emily! I won't have you bandying 
words with your father; you seem to have lost all 
sense of respect. 

Emily [to Ned angrily]. Aren't they tyrants! 
[She goes to a little table and takes off her bonnet, 
in a quick annoyed way.] 

Rose [very politely and nicely to Gertrude], 
Gertrude, if you aren't going out, could you come 
into the study about those addresses ? 



ACT II 55 

Gert. [somewhat snappishly, tak'mg Emily's 
bonnet]. Of course ! [She goes out quickly.] 

John [to Ned]. Well, you've got to be off then, 
for the moment. [All are near the door now, ex- 
cept Emily, who is drawing off her gloves sav- 
agely.] 

Rose [in a low voice to Ned]. Till tea, then. 
[She goes out, nodding her head significantly.] 

Ned [hesitating]. Yes. [To John.] But I 
must just kiss the hand of this new cousin of mine 
first. 

John [in a peculiar tone]. Oh! All Right! 
[He follows Rose.] 

Ned [going up to Emily, whose face is turned 
away ingratiatingly]. Now, I'm not included in 
this frown, am I? 

Emily [facing him and bursting out]. But 
don't you think it's a shame, seriously? 

Ned. Of course if you've promised Mr. Preece, 
and don't want to disappoint him 

Emily [with false lightness]. Oh, Mr. Preece is 
nothing to me! Only I do want to know where 
I am. The fact is they let me do as I like in little 
things, and they're frightfully severe in big things. 
Not really big things, but — you know 

Ned. Middling big things. 

Emily. After all I'm twenty-two. 

Ned. A mature age. 

Emily [huffily]. Oh! Naturally you take 
their side ! 



56 MILESTONES 

Ned. Honour bright, I don't ! I tell you I feel 
far more like your age than theirs. I'm much 
younger than your father — much ! That's why 
I don't like being called uncle. 

Emily. Really? 

Ned. Really. 

Emily [confidentially]. And there's another 
thing. They oughtn't to treat Auntie Gertrude 
like that, ought they? She's got more brains 
than anybody else here. 

Ned. Than your father? 

Emily. No, not than father. I meant mother, 
and Uncle Sam, and me — and you 

Ned. I see. 

Emily. Who is it runs the house? You don't 
suppose it's mother, do you? Mother is absorbed 
in father, quite absorbed in him. No ! It's auntie 
does everything. And yet she's nobody, simply no- 
body. She arranges to take me out, and they stop 
it without so much as apologising to her. 

Ned. Well, you see, she's an old maid. 

Emily. I don't care whether she's an old maid 
or not. She's the only friend I have. Father and 
mother are most awfully fond of me and all that, 
and mother is sweet, isn't she? But still that 
makes no difference. There are two camps in this 
house; they're in one, and auntie and I are in the 
other. And I tell you we have to be regular con- 
spirators, in self-defence. Of course I'm trusting 

you. 



ACT II 57 

Ned [who has been playing with a book he has 
picked up from a table]. You may. 

Emily. For instance, they won't let me read 
Ouida. They don't even like auntie to read Ouida. 

Ned. This isn't Ouida. 

Emily. I know it isn't. That's William Black. 
They're always throwing William Black at me, and 
I hate him. I want to read Ouida. 

Ned. You must wait till you're married. 

Emily. I won't. And I do so want to go to 
the Hotel Metropole. 

Ned. I thought it was the Royal Academy. 

Emily. The Academy too. 

Ned. Look here, Emily. Suppose I arrange a 
little theatre party? 

Emily. Not with father and mother. They'll 
want to go to something silly. 

Ned. No. Just your auntie and me — and 
you, of course. 

Emily. Will you? 

Ned. Rather ! 

Emily. You're quite coming out. But will 
they allow it? 

Ned. You bet they will. 

Emily. Where ? 

Ned. Anywhere you like. 

Emily. Do you know " The Mikado's " been 
running three months, and I haven't seen it yet? 

Ned. " Here's a ' How d'you do ! ' " The Sa- 
voy then. 



58 MILESTONES 

Emily. Oh ! Hurrah ! Hurrah ! Thanks ; you 
are a dear. 

Ned [pleased]. Am I? That's all right then. 
Au re voir. [Turns to the door.~\ 

Emily [calling him back]. Cousin! [She 
beckons him to come to her.] What's this secret 
between you and father and mother? 

Ned. What secret? 

Emily [crossly]. Now you needn't pretend. I 
could see it as plain as anything when I came in. 
And when they went out too, for that matter. 

Ned. I can't stand being bullied. 

Emily. Tell me, and I won't bully you. 

Ned [solemnly]. You're going to be related to 
a baronet. 

Emily [disturbed]. They don't want me to 
marry a baronet, do they? 

Ned. Foolish creature ! No. It's the opposite 
camp that's about to receive a title. 

Emily [delighted] . Father — a baronet ! 

Ned, I'm just off to make the final arrange- 
ments now. 

Emily, Truly ? 

Ned, Don't be misled by my modest exterior. 
I'm a terrific nob — really. [He turns to go.] 

Emily [as he is going]. Didn't you say some- 
thing about kissing my hand? One of your jokes, 
I suppose. [Ned comes and kisses it, then hurries 
to the door. As he opened it he looks back and 
says " The Mikado," and hurries out. Emily 



ACT II 59 

stands a moment lost in thought, a smile on her lips. 
Then she hums, quite unconsciously, " For he's go- 
ing to marry Yum-Yum, Yum-Yum! " Goes back 
to the table on which the William Black is lying, 
picks it up — opens it, reading a bit, then flings 
the book aside, muttering in disgust, " Black! " 
Thompson enters. He has grown old m the service 
of the Rheads.~\ 

Thompson [announcing]. Mr. Preece. [He 
withdraws. Arthur Preece enters. His age is 
twenty-five; he is a man of the clerk class, whose 
talent and energy have made him what he is. He 
is full of enthusiasm, earnest, but with a rough 
sense of humour. Rather short and stocky in fig- 
ure, but important. His clothes are neat and use- 
ful — but very simple. ~\ 

Preece [excited] . Good afternoon, Miss Rhead. 
I'm afraid I'm a little early. 

Emily [putting on the manner of a woman of the 
world]. Not at all, Mr. Preece. I'm sure Auntie 
Gertrude will be delighted. 

Preece [vaguely]. She's not here now, your 
aunt ? 

Emily [looking round]. No. 

Preece [eagerly], I wonder if I should have 
time to tell you something before she comes in. 
It isn't that it's a secret. But nobody knows yet, 
and I should like you to be the first. 

Emily. How very kind of you, Mr. Preece ! 

Preece. I've only just known it myself. 



60 MILESTONES 

Emily. It seems to be very thrilling. 

Preece. It is, rather. It's just this. I've suc- 
ceeded in making mild steel nearly five per cent, 
lighter than it's ever been made before. Nearly 
five per cent, lighter, and no extra cost. 

Emily, Really ! How much is five per cent. ? 

Preece. It's one-twentieth part. You know, it's 
enormous. 

Emily. I suppose it is. 

Preece. I dare say you don't quite realise what 
it means — this enormous change in the specific 
gravity. But it is enormous. 

Emily. What is specific gravity? In a word? 

Preece. It's — well — Now supposing — Do 
you mind if I explain that to you some other time? 
I'd like to, awfully ! 

Emily. Oh! Any time! 

Preece. It's quite O.K., you know. And the 
thing comes to this. Assume the steel for a big- 
gish ship cost £20,000. Under my new process 
you'd get the same result with steel that weighed 
about a twentieth less and cost, roughly, £19,000. 
Net saving of nearly one thousand pounds ! 

Emily [impressed]. And did you 

Preece [continuing']. And not only that. As 
the hull weighs so much less, you can carry a pro- 
portionately heavier cargo in the same bottom. 

Emily. Well, I never heard of such a thing! 
And am I really the first to know? 

Preece. You are. 



ACT II 61 

Emily, And you found out this all alone? 

Preece. Oh, yes ! Except the manager, nobody 
has any idea of what I've been experimenting on. 

Emily. Not even father? 

Preece. No. 

Emily. I suppose he knows you are experiment- 
ing. 

Preece. Of course. That's my job. That's 
what he took me out of the drawing office for. I'm 
always experimenting on something. 

Emily. I expect you're what they call an in- 
ventor. 

Preece [humorously], I expect I am. {Eager- 
ly~\. I'd practically finished this experiment a 
week ago. But I had to make sure whether there 
was any manganese left in the steel. I've been 
getting a friend at the City and Guilds of London 
Institute to analyse it for me — you know, the big, 
red building in Exhibition Road. I've just come 
from there. 

Emily. So that was your business in the West 
End? [Preece nods.~\ I'm sure auntie and I 
hadn't an idea it was anything half so romantic. 

Preece. It is romantic, isn't it? 

Emily. No wonder you're so excited. 

Preece. Am I? Well, I don't caret It's all 
right. That's all I care about. Here's a bit of 
the steel now. [He offers her a small sample.] 

Emily. Is it for me? May I keep it? 

Preece. I want you to. 



68 MILESTONES 

Emily. Rather a strange thing for a girl to 
keep, isn't it? 

Preece. You don't mind 

Emily. I'd part with all my jewellery before I 
parted with this. D'you know, it makes me feel 
very proud. And when I think of poor old father 
not knowing anything about it 

Preece. I shall tell him to-morrow if he can 
spare time to see me. 

Emily. Spare time to see you ==•* why ? 

Preece. Oh ! you don't know, but Mr. Rhead's 
a sort of crowned head on the works. You can't 
walk into his office as if it was a public-house, I can 
tell you. 

Emily. But it's so important for him. 

Preece. Rather! Much more important for 
him than for me. 

Emily. Why ? 

Preece. Under our agreement ! Our agreement 
has five years to run yet, and during that time 
everything I do belongs to the firm. I only get 
a percentage on whatever my inventions bring 
in. 

Emily. What percentage? 

Preece. Ten. For every hundred pounds profit 
I get ten pounds and the firm gets ninety. 

Emily. But what a frightful shame ! It ought 
to be the other way about — you ninety pounds 
and the firm ten. 

Preece. Oh, no ! It's fair enough — really ! 



ACT II 63 

They pay me a very good salary. And you must 
remember if Mr. Rhead hadn't taken me out of 
the drawing office, I should be there now getting 
two pounds a week ! 

Emily. I don't care! I think it's a frightful 
shame. I shall tell father. 

Preece [half playfully']. Please don't, unless 
you want to ruin me with him. I owe just about 
everything to your father. 

Emily. But it's so horridly unfair. 

Preece. Oh, no! I assure you. I shall have 
all the money I want, and more. And it will al- 
ways be my invention. That's the point. 

Emily. Then you don't care for money? 

Preece. Yes, I do. I want enough. In fact, I 
want a good deal. But what's interesting is to do 
things, and to do 'em better and quicker, and less 
clumsily than ever they were done before. If I 
can make nineteen tons of steel do the work of 
twenty — Well, I reckon I've accomplished some- 
thing for the world. 

Emily. I like that. It's very original. 

Preece. Not my notion, you know. I'm a dis- 
ciple of William Morris. 

Emily. Oh ! He's a poet, isn't he ? 

Preece. You should read " The Earthly Para- 
dise." 

Emily. I should love to. 

Preece. If people would read a bit more William 
Morris, and less of these silly gim-crack novels 



64s MILESTONES 

about lord and actresses — Ouida and so on — 
What's the matter? 

Emily. Nothing. {With a certain self -satis- 
faction], William Black's silly too, isn't he? 

Preece. Of course. 

Emily [firmly]. I'm going to read "The 
Earthly Paradise." 

Preece. Let me lend it you. I've got a signed 
copy, from the author. 

Emily. You know an author I 

Preece. I know William Morris. I was up at 
his stable last night. 

Emily. His stable? 

Preece. He gives lectures in a stable behind his 
house at Hammersmith. I wish you'd heard him 
pitching into the House of Lords. " A squad of 
dukes." 

Emily. But why? 

Preece. Oh, because they aren't interested in 
the right thing. 

Emily. What is the right thing? 

Preece. The right thing is to make the world 
fit to live in. 

Emily. But isn't it? 

Preece. Have you ever been to the East End? 

Emily. I did some slumming once, just to see. 
But I was so ashamed to go into their awful houses, 
that I never tried again. 

Preece [getting up, excited]. That's grand! 
That's grand! That's just how I feel. Every- 



ACT II 65 

one feels like that that's got any imagination and 
any sense of justice. We ought to be ashamed 
of the East End. At least the governing classes 
ought. Not for the poor, but for themselves. 
They ought to go and get buried if they can't 
govern better than that. 

Emily [after a pause, rising as in thought; 
moved]. But how are you going to change it? 

Preece. Not by slumming, that's a certainty. 
You can only change it by getting some decent 
laws passed, and by playing fair, and doing your 
job, and thinking a great deal less about eating 
and drinking, and fine clothes, and being in the 
swim and all that sort of nonsense. Do you know 
what I am going to do as soon as I can afford? 
I'm going to be a Member of Parliament. 

Emily [low]. Why did you offer to take us to 
the Hotel Metropole? 

Preece [confused], I thought you'd like it. I 
— I 

Emily. You despise it yourself. 

Preece. I'm human. 

Emily. But [She draws close to him] . 

Preece. I'm very ambitious. I want a whole 
lot of things. But if I thought I could find some- 
one — find a woman, who — who feels as I feel ; 
who'd like before everything to help to make the 
world decent — I'd 

Emily. I [Profoundly stirred, she falls 

into his arms.] 



66 MILESTONES 

Preece. Emily ! [He kisses her long, holding 
her close.~\ 

Emily [gently releases herself and walks away. 
With effort], I haven't told you. I forgot. 
Father doesn't wish me to go out with you this 
afternoon. He's here now, in the study. [Ger- 
trude enters from the hall, without her bonnet this 
time.~\ 

Gert. Good afternoon, Mr. Preece. [They 
shake hands. To Emily. ,] I suppose you — er 
— told Mr. Preece that the excursion is counter- 
manded? [She goes to the fireplace .] 

Emily. Yes, Mr. Preece was just going. 
[Gently. ] Good afternoon. [She holds out her 
hand to Preece, who hesitates. Emily repeats in 
firmer tone.] Good afternoon. [In a tender 
voice.] Please! [With a smile.] Another time f 
[Preece shakes hands and, bowing to Gertrude, re- 
tires. As he departs Gertrude rings the bell by the 
fireplace J] 

Gert. Well, I've been catching it, I can tell 
you I 

Emily [shaken]. What about? 

Gert. About you. They simply asked me to 
go into the study so that I could be talked to — for 
your good, my girl. 

Emily. They weren't rude, were they? 

Gert. You know your mother's always almost 
most considerate. She's an angel. But your 
father rubbed it in finely. How many times had 



ACT II 67 

you seen the young man ? — If ever alone ? — 
What on earth was I thinking of? — What on 
earth was your mother doing to have noticed noth- 
ing? (As if your mother ever noticed anything!) 
And so on ! Of course, I told them pretty straight 
that they were making a most ridiculous fuss about 
nothing. 

Emily. Well, anyhow, I've let him kiss me. 

Gert. You've let him kiss you? When? 

Emily. Just now. Here. 

Gert . But what 

Emily. Don't ask me. I don't know, I really 
don't. But I've felt it coming for some time. 

Gert. Do you mean to say he walked in here and 
proposed to you straight off, and you accepted 
him? 

Emily. I didn't accept him, because he didn't 
propose. He was talking about his ideas. 

Gert. What ideas? 

Emily [with a vague gesture"]. Oh, about the 
world in general, and all that he means to do. 
He's made another marvellous invention, only no 
one knows except me. It was the excited way he 
talked — somehow — I couldn't help it — before I 
knew what we were doing, he'd got his arms round 
me. 

Gert. [rather sternly, in spite of her tender feel- 
ing] . Well, Emily, I must say I'm very surprised. 

Emily. So am I. 

Gert. Of course you're engaged to him? 



68 MILESTONES 

Emily. Am I? 

Gert. And it'll be all my fault. However, it's 
got to be seen through to the end now. 

Emily. He has very strange ideas. They 
sound splendid when he's explaining them. But 
d'you know, he thinks Ouida's silly. 

Gert. Does he? 

Emily. And he really doesn't care about money 
and fashion and all that sort of thing. He 
despises going to the Hotel Metropole. He only 
offered to go there because he thought it would 
please our horrid little minds — I was so ashamed. 

Gert. But surely you knew all this before — at 
least you guessed it? 

Emily. I didn't, auntie. I never thought about 
his ideas, never! I just 

Gert. You just simply fell into his arms as soon 
as you heard them, that's all. Well, surely in that 
case, you must admire these ideas of his tre- 
mendously. [She sits in an armchair.] 

Emily. I don't know. Yes. I admire them, 
but 

Gert. Listen, young woman! Are you in love 
with him, or aren't you? 

Emily. I — I How can you tell whether 

you're in love with a man or not? 

Gert. Supposing you were alone with him here, 
now — would you let him kiss you again ? 
[Pause.] 

Emily. I 



ACT II 69 

Gert . Now, out with it ! 

Emily. I shouldn't be able to stop him, 
should I? 

Gert. That's enough. 

Emily. Yes. But then what about father? 
He would be frightfully angry, I can see that. Oh, 
I do hate unpleasantness, auntie. And Mr. 
Preece's ideas are really very peculiar. 

Gert [after a look at Emily]. Listen, Emily! 
I was once engaged to be married. 

Emily. Oh, auntie! I always knew you must 
have been. Do tell me. Who was it? 

Gert. Your Uncle Sam. 

Emily [staggered]. Not Uncle Sam? 

Gert. You're surprised, naturally. But you 
mustn't be too hard. Remember it was twenty- 
five years ago, Uncle Sam was a splendid fellow 
then. He's old now. We're all old, except you — 
and Mr. Preece. You've got the only thing worth 
having, you two. 

Emily [sitting at Gertrude's feet]. What's 
that? 

Gert. Youth. Your Uncle Sam lived the miser- 
able life of a bachelor till he was fifty. He'd have 
been a very different man if I'd married him. And 
I should have been a very different woman. 

Emily. Why did you break it off? 

Gert. I broke it off because there were diffi- 
culties; and because I thought his ideas were pe- 
culiar ; and because I hated unpleasantness ! And 



70 MILESTONES 

now look at me! Couldn't I have ruled a house 
and a family ? Couldn't I have played the hostess ? 
[In another tone.~\ To-day the one poor little joy 
I have in life is to pretend I'm your mother. Look 
at my position here. I'm only 

Emily [passionately]. Oh, auntie, don't! I 
can't bear to hear you say it. I know ! 

Gert, We were opposite in every way, your 
uncle and I, but I — I loved him. 

Emily [softly]. Do you still love him, auntie? 

Gert. [in a flat tone of despair]. No! Love 
dies out. 

Emily [after a moment]. Why didn't you 
marry somebody else? 

Gert. There was nobody else. There never is 
anybody else when you've made the mistake I 
made. Marry! I could have chosen among a 
dozen men! But they were all the wrong men. 
Emily ! Fancy pouring out tea every day of 
your life for the wrong man. Every breakfast time 
— every afternoon ! And there he sits, and noth- 
ing will move him. Think of that, Emily — think 
of that. [A pause.] 

Emily [embracing "her again]. Oh, auntie! / 
love you awfully ! 

Gert. You must show some courage, my girl. 
Don't be afraid of anything — and especially not 
of arguments and threats. What does unpleasant- 
ness matter, after all? It's over in a month; but 
a mistake lasts for ever. 



ACT II 71 

Emily, You'll help me? 

Gert. That's all I live for. [She kisses Emily 
tenderly.] Is that Sam's voice? [Thompson en- 
ters.'] 

Thompson [announcing], Mr. and Mrs. Sib- 
ley. [He retires.] [Samuel Sibley and his wife 
Nancy enter, Samuel, who is now fifty-three, has 
grown into a rather flabby nonentity, grey-haired 
with longish side whiskers and glasses. His man- 
ner is important and fussy. Nancy is a buxom, 
Yorkshire woman of thirty-two, round-faced, good- 
natured, full of energy. She wears the fashion- 
able jersey of 1885 and a very definite " bustle."] 

Sam. Well, Gertrude ? Well, my little Emmie ! 
[He kisses Emily, who gives her cheek unwillingly; 
then shakes hands with Gertrude.] 

Gert. How are you, Sam; and you, Mrs. Sam? 

Nancy. Nicely, thank you ! [Shaking hands 
vigorously with Gertrude and Emily.] Every- 
body well, here? 

Emily. Yes, thank you. 

Nancy. That's fine! Then your mother got 
Sam's letter saying we were coming? 

Emily [drily] . Oh, yes ! 

Nancy. I said to Sam it would happen be best 
to write and tell you. So he wrote — [with a look 
at Sam] — finally. 

Sam [with a serious tone]. We nearly didn't 
come. 

Gert. Anything wrong? 



72 MILESTONES 

Sam. Infant's temperature up at a hundred last 
night. However, it was normal this morning. 

Nancy. You know he takes the baby's tempera- 
ture every night. 

Emily. Oh, do you, uncle ? How funny I 

Sam. I don't see anything funny about it, 
niece. Good thing if some parents took their re- 
sponsibilities a bit more seriously. 

Nancy. I must say Sam makes a very good 
father. 

Gert. Let me see — how old is Dickie now ? 

Sam. We never call him Dickie — Richard, 
better; less nonsensical. [He settles down sol- 
emnly in a chair.] 

Nancy. You've no idea what I call him when 
you're not there, Sam! [To Gertrude.'] He 
was two on the second of this month. He talks 
like anything! You ought to see him and his 
father together. It's killing! The little thing's 
so exactly like Sam. 

Emily [examining Sam]. Is he? We must go 
down to Brockley, mustn't we, auntie? 

Nancy [drily]. I've been expecting you for 
the better part of some time. [Then cordially.] 
I should love you to come as soon as I've got a new 
cook. [With emphasis.] Oh, my! 

Gert. Are you having trouble? 

Nancy. Trouble's not the word. And as for 
the nurse-maid I If it wasn't for Sam being 
free 



ACT II 73 

Gert. D'you take your share, Sam? 

Nancy. By the hour he wheels that child up 
and down. 

Emily. Not in the street? 

Sam. Why not, niece? Anything to be 
ashamed of in being a father? 

Nancy. That's what we came up for to-day, to 
buy a new perambulator. He did try to repair 
the other in the little workshop he's made himself 
at the end of the garden — and most useful he is 
for odd jobs. Upon my word, he's busy from 
morning to night ! But we thought it better to 
buy a new pram altogether. 

Sam [discontented]. Nancy would insist on 
having one of those new things with indiarubber 
tyres, as they call them. 

Nancy [very definitely']. Now, Sam. I thought 
we'd done with that question. 

Sam. Yes ; but rubber tyres on gravel paths ! 
It's obvious they'll not last a 

Nancy. I told you Mrs. Caton across the road 
told me 

Sam. Oh, very well! Very well! Only it's 
very light and flimsy. 

Emily [restless] . I think I'll go and tell father 
and mother you're here. [Going towards the 
door.] 

Nancy [rising, very convinced]. Come and see 
for yourself what you think of the pram and the 
rubber tyres. 



74 MILESTONES 

Emily [rising. ] Is it here? 

Nancy. Yes, in the hall. 

Sam. I deemed it imprudent to let them send it 
down by train. So we brought it away on the 
roof of a four-wheeler. 

Emily [patronisingly]. Well, let's go and in- 
spect it, Aunt Nancy. [Emily and Nancy go 

off-] 

Gert. [waiting till the door is closed; in lorn, 
quiet tones], Sam, I'm so glad you've come. 
There's going to be another tragedy in this house, 
if some of us don't do something. 

Sam. Another tragedy? What do you mean? 

Gert. I just mean a tragedy. That child's 
head over heels in love with young Arthur Preece, 
at the works, and John simply won't hear of it. 

Sam. Why? 

Gert. [shrugs her shoulders']. Why, indeed? 
Sam, if there's any discussion while you're here 
I want you to help me all you can. 

Sam. But really, Gertrude, how can I meddle 
in an affair like that? I have my own responsi- 
bilities. 

Gert. Sam, it's many years since I asked the 
slightest favour of you. 

Sam [moved, friendly']. Come, come. Don't 
go so far back as all that. We're all very com- 
fortable as we are, I think. [The door opens.] 

Gert. [quick and low]. But will you? You've 
got more influence than I have. 



ACT II 75 

Sam [low]. All right. [Pats her arm.~\ All 
right. [Enter Rose and John.'] 

John [coming up to Sam a little patronisingly]. 
Sam, glad to see you ! How's the precious family 
getting on? Any new trouble lately? 

Sam [a little sharply]. Oh, no! And what 
about yours? [In a significant, bantering tone.] 
Any new trouble lately? 

John. Mine? Trouble? No! 

Rose [kissing Sam fondly]. Your wife's here? 

Sam. She's downstairs somewhere 

John [interrupting sharply]. Where's Emily? 

Gert. She's just gone with Mrs. Sam to look at 
a new 

John [interrupting again]. Preece hasn't been, 
has he? 

Gert. He's been and gone. 

John. Were you here? 

Gert. I was here part of the time. 

John. You ought to have been here all the time. 
What did you tell him? 

Gert. Emily told him you wished us to stay at 
home this afternoon. 

John [nodding curtly]. So much for that. 

Sam. So even you are not quite without 'em, 
Jack? 

John. Not quite without what? 

Sam. Family troubles. 

John. What in heaven's name are you driving 
at? 



76 MILESTONES 

Sam. Nothing. I only gathered from your 
tone that Preece was considered — er — danger- 
ous. 

John [hedging]. Oh, no! I'm merely taking 
precautions. Preece is an excellent fellow in his 
way — brilliant even. 

Sam. But you wouldn't care for him as a son- 
in-law. 

John [positively]. I should not. 

Rose [shaking her head]. No! 

Sam. I've always understood he had a great 
career before him. 

John. So he has, undoubtedly. You should see 
what he's got me to do at the works. Made me 
instal the telephone. And his latest is that he 
wants me to put down an electric light plant. 
What do you think of that? 

Sam. He must be very enthusiastic. 

Gert. I should think he just is! 

John. Why, the boy's invention mad. He 
thinks of nothing else. 

Sam. Well, if you ask me I'd sooner have that 
kind of madness than most kinds I meet with. 
Seems to me people have gone mad on bicycles or 
banjo-playing or this lawn-tennis, as it's called. 
It was different in our day, Jack, when young men 
took an interest in volunteering and the defence of 
their country. I've quite decided when our boy 
grows up 

Gert . [putting a hand on Sam 9 s arm] . Sam ! — 



ACT II 77 

Emily may be back any moment. We were talk- 
ing about Arthur Preece. 

Sam. So we were. [Turns again to John.] 
Well, Jack 

John [annoyed]. Look here, Sam — I don't 
mind being frank with you. Her mother and I 
have somebody else in view for Emily. 

Sam. Oh ! 

Gert. [bitterly], I thought as much. [A slight 
pause.] 

John [carelessly to Sam]. Have you heard I'm 
going to have a title? 

Sam. No! What title? 

John. Baronet. 

Gert. [quickly]. You never told me. 

Rose [soothingly]. It only came out this after- 
noon, Gertrude dear. 

Sam. Oh — ho. 

John [still with an affectation of carelessness]. 
And what's more, Emily can marry — under the 
very happiest auspices — into the peerage. 
That's why we don't want her to see too much of 
young Preece. 

Sam. And may one ask who is the Peer? 

John. Monkhurst, of course. 

Sam. Ned ! 

Gert. Ned? 

Rose. Wouldn't it be ideal, Sam! 

Sam. He's keen — Ned ? 

John. Very ! Put that in your pipe and smoke 



78 MILESTONES 

it, my boy. [Emily and Nancy re-enter rather 
suddenly. All the others have a self-conscious 
air.] 

'John [rather negligently]. Well, Nancy. 
How are you? It seems the infant's grown out of 
his pram. [Shakes hands."] 

Nancy [rather proud of berng able to call the 
great man " John " and yet trying not to be 
proud]. Glad to see you, John. [Rose and 
Nancy embrace. An awkward pause.] 

Emily [with suspicion]. What's the matter 
here? More secrets? 

Gert. [in an outburst]. It's being arranged that 
you are to marry Lord Monkhurst. 

John [nonplussed, coldly angry] . Gertrude, are 
you stark staring mad — blurting things out like 
that? 

Rose [shocked] . Gertrude, dear — really 1 

Gert. [firmly]. She'd better know, hadn't 
she? 

John. You 

Nancy [blandly]. Well, anyhow, the fat's in 
the fire now, isn't it, John? 

John [turning to Nancy]. Sorry you've been 
let in for a bit of a scene, Nancy. 

Nancy [cheerfully]. Oh! Don't mind me. I 
know what family life is — my word ! I'm from 
Yorkshire I Best to have it out fair and square 
— that's my experience. 

Sam. That's what she always says when the 



ACT II 79 

infant's obstreperous. Why, the night before last, 
just as we were getting off to sleep 

John. There's nothing to have out t 

Gert. Oh, yes, there is. Emily's in love with 
Arthur Preece. 

John. What's this? 

Emily [very nervous; to Gertrude]. What do 
you mean — it's being arranged for me to marry 
Lord Monkhurst? Me — marry old Ned ! 

John. He's not old. 

Emily. Isn't he old enough to be my father? 

John. Certainly not. 

Sam [mischievously']. I doubt it. 

John [turning on him]. You're the last man to 
talk about difference of age between husband and 
wife. 

Rose [smoothing over the awkwardness]. But 
you're very happy, aren't you, dear? 

Sam. Naturally. 

Nancy. I don't see that age matters — so long 
as people really fancy each other. I'm sure Sam 
gets younger every day. 

John. Of course! [Turning to Emily an- 
grily.] What's this tale about you being in love 
with Preece? 

Emily. I 

John. Has he been proposing to you? 

Emily. No. 

John [disdainfully]. Then how can you be in 
love with him?" 



80 MILESTONES 

Emily [resenting his tone]. Well, I am in love 
with him, if you want to know, father. 

John. You have the audacity 

Nancy. Come, John, it's not a crime. 

John. Preece is not of our class at all. It's a 
gross mistake to marry out of your class. 

Nancy [bantering']. Now, John, that's not very 
tactful, seeing that Sam married out of his class. 

Sam. Don't be foolish, Nan! I married a 
lady. Even a marquis couldn't do more. 

John. My dear Nancy, you belong to the fam- 
ily — that's enough ! Preece is quite a different 
affair. Just a common clerk until I 

Emily. I can't see what more you want. He 
has the most beautiful manners, and, as for money, 
he'll make lots. 

John. How will he make lots ? 

Emily. With his inventions. You haven't 
heard about his latest. But I have. He's told me. 
Here it is. [Hands piece of steel to her father.] 

John [taking it]. And what's this? 

Emily. I don't know exactly. But it's very 
wonderful. It's steel, I think — a new kind. 

John [drily]. Yes. I see it's steel. 

Emily. And I think it's a great shame for you 
to take nine-tenths of all the money from his in- 
ventions, and for him to only have one-tenth. 

John [flashing up]. What? Has he been 
whining to you in that style? 

Emily [passionately]. No, he hasn't been 



ACT II 81 

whining to me in that style. He hasn't been whin- 
ing at all. He thought it was quite fair. It only 
came out by pure accident, and I promised I'd 
never breathe a word. You must forget what I've 
said. 

John. I'll teach him 

Emily [more passionately']. If you ever say a 
single thing, father, I'll run away and never come 
back. 

Rose. Child! please! [She tries to soothe 
her.~\ 

Sam [to calm the stress]. Hand over, Jack. 
[Takes the piece of steel and looks at it.] I fully 
admit I was wrong about iron. But even you 
won't prophesy that steel's going to take the place 
of iron for ships ! 

John [shortly]. I don't think it is in my 
works. But, as for prophesying — I don't proph- 
esy. Heavens knows no one can accuse me of 
being conservative in my ideas. But I must say 
the new generation seems to be going clean off 
its head. If one of these up-to-date inventors 
came along and told me he'd made a flying-ma- 
chine, I should keep my nerve. I shouldn't blench. 
Sam. Good ! Good ! 

Gert. Now you're at flying-machines! What 
have flying-machines got to do with Emily's hap- 
piness? If she wants to marry young Preece 

Emily. Yes, if I want to marry him, why 
shouldn't I? 



82 * MILESTONES 

Rose. Because your father objects. 

Emily. Oh, mother. Didn't you marry father, 
in spite of everyone? 

John. Who's told you that? 

Emily. I know. [General glances at Ger- 
trude.] 

Rose [indignant']. Do you mean to compare 
young Preece with your father? 

Emily. Why not? You loved father, and 
I 

John. I'll tell you why not. I was independ- 
ent. I was my own master. Young Mr. Preece 
isn't. That's why. 

Gert. [sarcastically]. Surely it's a free country 
— for men ! 

John. It's not a country where honest men 
break their contracts. Young Preece can't pat- 
ent an invention without me. Can't do anything 
without me. If I like, I can force him to mark 
time for five years, five solid years. 

Emily. Does that mean that if I married him in 
spite of you 

Rose [horrified]. Child! Well may you say 
we've spoilt you ! 

John [calmly]. It means that if he had the 
impudence to marry you, I'd scotch him — that I 
would. 

Emily. But why? Who's going to suffer? 
How can my marriage affect anybody but me? 

John. Don't talk like a little fool. Your mar- 



ACT II 83 

riage is the most important thing in the whole world 
to your mother and me. And if you persist in 
doing something against our will, I shall retal- 
iate — that's all. 

Emily [with a despairing gesture], I can't 
make out your objections to Mr. Preece. Why, 
he's a genius ; everyone knows he's a genius. 

John. And what if he is? Are geniuses to be 
the kings of the earth? Not quite! Geniuses 
have to be kept in order like criminals. If there's 
one thing above all to be said in favour of the 
English character, it is that we've known the 
proper way to treat geniuses. 

Sam. I'm inclined to agree with you there. 

John [to Emily]. Oh, it isn't Preece's class I 
object to. He's presentable enough. The whole 
truth is he's a highly dangerous sort of young 
man we're breeding in these days. He — he makes 
you feel — uncomfortable. On the works, under 
discipline, admirable. Outside the works — no, 
no ! And no ! I've been following Master Preece's 
activities far more closely than he thinks. He lit- 
tle guesses I know he's a Socialist ! 

Sam. A Socialist I Good God! Gertrude, 
you never told me that. A Socialist I 

Gert. Why are men always so frightened by 
names ? 

John. A Socialist. \To Emily, an ultima- 
tum.'] And I don't intend you to marry him. If 
you do, you ruin him. That's the long and short 



84* MILESTONES 

of it. Now, Emily, have we heard the last of 
Preece — or not ? 

Rose [to Emily]. Darling! 

Gert. I really think you ought 

John [curtly]. Pardon me, Gertrude. This 
isn't your affair. It's my daughter's. 

Gert. [to Emily]. Your father is right. It's 
your affair. It depends solely on you. 

Emily [weeping imploringly']. What am I to 
do, auntie? [Gertrude turns away with a move- 
ment of pain and disgust.] 

Emily. I don't want to make everybody mis- 
erable. 

Gert. [reproachfully]. Oh, Emily! 

Emily. I couldn't stand — in Mr. Preece's 
light ! I couldn't. 

John. There ! There ! Of course you couldn't. 

Rose [comforting her] . My poor lamb ! 

John. And don't go and suppose I want to 
compel you to marry Monkhurst — or anybody. 
You're absolutely free. 

Gert. [sniffs audibly]. H'm! 

John [glaring at Gertrude to Emily]. Only, as 
your aunt has dragged in his name, I don't see 
any harm in telling you this much. He adores 
you. We all like him. His wife will have a posi- 
tion second to none in London Society. But 
don't let that influence you. Take him or refuse 
him as you please; your mother and I won't 
complain. 



ACT II 85 

Rose. Indeed we shaVt, my love. 

John. Still a marriage like this is not to be 
sneezed at. Is it, Emily? [Pause.'] I say, is it? 

Emily [trying to smile; weakly]. No. 

John [continuing]. Not that I think it 
wouldn't be a big slice of luck for Monkhurst, too ! 
There's only one Emily! [He pats her.] And 
then my title 

Nancy. Your title, John? 

John [carelessly]. Haven't you heard? 

Nancy. No ! 

John [as above]. Baronetcy! 

Nancy [staggered]. Wonders '11 never cease. 
[To Rose.] What a pity you've got no son, dear ! 

Rose [with a trace of bitterness]. Don't crow 
over us, dear! [She clasps Emily to her.] 

Sam [with a sigh of regret for himself]. Well, 
well ! And I've retired into private life ! 

John [surveying him patronisingly]. And 
you've retired into private life. You're safe at 
Brockley. But then you see you hadn't got a bee 
in your bonnet. 

Sam [accepting the sarcasm with, a foolish 
smile]. Well, well! 

Nancy [sharply], I don't see that there's any 
need for so much well-welling. 

John. Come and give your father a kiss, Em. 
[Emily obeys.] 

Gert. [rising as she does so, full of emotion]. 
I [Thompson enters followed by a Foot- 



86 MILESTONES 

man. They bring in tea. Gertrude pulls herself 
together. There is a slight pause while the Serv- 
ants arrange the tea-things. They leave the 
room.] 

Rose. Emily, dear, will you pour out? 

Emily [demurely]. Yes, mother. 

Rose. I hope Ned won't be late. 

Nancy. Is Lord Monkhurst coming for tea? 

Rose. He promised to. 

Nancy. Oh, dear! If I'd known I was going 

to meet him [She rises and arranges her 

bustle and the draperies of her shirt. ,] I do hope 
he won't notice that pram. A pram in a hall looks 
so common. [She reseats herself. Thompson 
enters.] 

Thompson [announcing]. Lord Monkhurst! 
[He retires.] 

Gert, [passionately]. Here's your lord! 
[Ned enters rapidly.] 

Ned, Well, kind friends. Hullo, Sam! 

Sam, Hullo, Ned! [They shake hands.] By 
the way, my wife — Nancy, Lord Monkhurst. 
[Nancy flustered, bows.] 

Ned [going towards Emily], Delighted! Any 
of that tea for me? 

Gert, [with great feeling]. And there's your 
tea — your daily tea, for the rest of your life. 

John [angrily] . Gertrude ! 

Gert . No, I will speak ! Ned, what would you 
do, if I told you that 



ACT II 87 

Emily [pleading]. Aunt Gertrude, please 

Gert. Emily? 

Emily [weakly']. It's all right, auntie. 

Gert. All right? Oh, very well! [Desper- 
ately.] What's the use! [She turns and walks 
quickly out of the room.] 

Ned [surprised at Gertrude's tone]. What's 
the matter with dear Gertrude? 

John. Nothing. One of her moods. [Draw- 
ing up a chair, with authority.] Now then, 
Emily, — tea ! 



[Curtain.] 



ACT III 

1912 

The same drawing-room, but now in 1912, it has 
undergone an entire change. All of the old 
mid-Victorian furniture has been crowded 
out by furniture of later style. Changes of 
ornaments, etc. The lights are electric; so 
is the bell by the fireplace. 

It is a June evening, about half-past teii at 
night. Signs of festivity — flowers, presents 
[in gold] are standing about. It is the 
evening of the Golden Wedding of John and 
Rose. [Webster, a smart, military-looking 
butler of forty, is arranging a tray of whis- 
key and soda. The door to the hall opens, 
and a Footman enters.] 

Footman [announcing]. Lord Monkhurst. 
[He withdraws.] [Lord Monkhurst enters. He 
is a young man about town of twenty-two, tall, 
hollow-chested, careless in his manners, very self- 
assured and properly bored.] 

Monk. I say, Webster. 

Webster. Good evening, my lord. 

Monk, [cheerfully], I suppose dinner's over? 
88 



ACT III 89 

Webster [looking at his watch]. It's half -past 
ten, my lord. 

Monk. Of course, they'll all say I'm late for 
dinner. 

Webster. Oh, no, my lord. Shall I order some 
dinner for your lordship? 

Monk. No. Who's here now? 

Webster. Lady Monkhurst and Miss Muriel; 
Miss Rhead, Mrs. Samuel Sibley, and Mr. Richard 
Sibley. 

Monk. Yes. I know he 9 s here. Many people 
at the reception this afternoon? 

Webster. Droves, my lord. 

Monk. I suppose these ghastly things are the 
presents ? 

Webster. As your lordship says. 

Monk. Dashed if I can understand why my 
grandfather should make such a fuss about his 
golden wedding. [Very cheerfully.] Was he 
very angry at me not turning up? 

Webster. Considering his age, no, my lord. I 
took the liberty of suggesting to him that this 
might be one of your busy weeks, my lord, and 
that your lordship could never tell before- 
hand 

Monk. You're a clever chap, Webster. Why 
the devil did you leave the army? 

Webster. Probably because, as your lordship 
says, I'm clever. There's more brains outside the 
army than in it, my lord. And like turns to like. 



90 MILESTONES 

Monk, [laughing in a superior way]. Ha! ha! 
Really ! 

Webster. Fact is, I enlisted under a misappre- 
hension, when I was in a temper. I have to thank 
your lordship's late father for helping me to re- 
enter my old profession, and under the most aus- 
picious circumstances. 

Monk. Well, we could do with more fellahs like 
you. I've not yet found any serjeant to draw my 
sketch maps for me half as well as you used to. 
[He is looking over the tray with drinks. ~\ 

Webster. Ah, my lord! Those half -guineas 
came in very handy, very handy. Glorious times, 
no doubt. But I wouldn't go back. 

Monk. Bring me a benedictine, will you? 
[Emily, now Lady Monkhurst, forty-eight, enters 
by the double doors. She has developed into a 
handsome, well-preserved woman of the world. 
She wears an evening dress of rich brocade, . and 
magnificent pearls.'] 

Monk. Well, mater, I don't see much sign of 
the fatted calf. 

Emily [annoyed], Gerald, your poor father 
was witty; you are merely facetious. I wish you 
could cure yourself. 

Monk. Now, what's the matter now? 

Emily. What's the matter? You must needs 
choose your grandparents' golden wedding to go 
to Sandown. You promised me you'd be back 
early, at any rate in time for the tail end of the 



ACT III 91 

reception ; and you don't even appear for dinner. 
Your grandfather is very displeased. 

Monk. If a fellow keeps a stable, he keeps a 
stable. Somebody's got to look after the gees in 
these days. And then [Hesitates.] 

Emily. Please don't tell me your car broke 
down. I've heard that too often. 

Monk. It didn't — this time. 

Emily. Have you dined? 

Monk. I have. 

Emily. Whom with? [Silence.'] One of your 
numerous " lady friends," I presume. Gerald, 
I'm ashamed of you. 

Monk. You've no right to be ashamed of me. 
If you want to know, I dined at the House of 
Lords. 

Emily. At the House of Lords? 

Monk. At the House of Lords. They tele- 
phoned to me at Sandown to come up for an im- 
portant division, and I was kept hanging about 
there till aften ten o'clock. Jolly amusing place, 
the House of Lords. 

Emily [rather taken aback]. Why didn't you 
tell me at first? 

Monk. Because I just wanted to teach you a 
lesson, mater. You're always ragging me about 
something or other. 

Emily. You might at least have telephoned. 

Monk. When a chap's doing his duty to his 
country, he can't always think about telephoning. 



9£ MILESTONES 

Emily. My dear Gerald, if you mean to follow 
in your father's footsteps, nobody will be more 
delighted than your mother. There'd be nothing 
to prevent you from being Master of the Horse, 
if you chose. Only, my chick 

Monk. Only your what? 

Emily. You must alter your manner of liv- 
ing. 

Monk. My manner of living, my dear mater, is 
my own affair. [With meaning. ~\ If you'd leave 
me alone, and look after your other " chick " a 
little bit more 

Emily. What do you mean? Muriel? 

Monk. Precisely. The Honourable Muriel. 

Emily. Why ? 

Monk. Oh! I know Muriel can do no wrong. 
Still, I spotted her at the top of the stairs just 
now practically in the arms of the good Richard. 

Emily. Richard ! 

Monk, [intoning']. And Samuel took to wife 
Nancy, and begat Richard. And Samuel passed 
away in the fulness of years and his son Richard 
reigned in his stead. And Richard looked upon 
Muriel, and lo ! she was beautiful in the eyes of 
Richard 

Emily. Hush, Gerald! Aren't you mistaken? 
I've never seen the slightest thing 

Monk. That shows how blind you are, then! 
Of course I'm not mistaken. 

Emily. Are you sure? 



ACT III 93 

Monk. Do you take me for a fool, mater? 

Emily [positively], Richard, indeed! I shall 
put a stop to it. 

Monk [almost savagely"], I should jolly well 
think you would. [Enter Webster from the hall 
with a liqueur on a salver. Monkhurst takes it 
and drinks it slowly,] 

Emily. Webster, will you kindly ask Miss 
Muriel to come here? 

Webster. Very good, my lady. [He goes out. 
Monkhurst nods knowingly to his mother as if to 
say, " Now you'll see! " Nancy enters by the 
double doors. She has grown into a rather red- 
faced, plump, old woman of fifty-eight. She is 
good-natured, but is quick to retort. Her laugh 
is rather loud, her manner more definite than 
ever.] 

Nancy. Good evening, young man. 

Monk, Good evening. 

Nancy, So you've come at 

Emily [interrupting her]. Aunt Nancy, I've 
just had to send for Muriel to come here. 

Nancy. What's amiss? 

Emily, I — well — I hardly like 

Monk, Your excellent son Richard has been 
seen trying to kiss my sister. 

Nancy. What was she doing? 

Emily. Well, that's not the point. 

Nancy. And supposing he was trying to kiss 
Muriel ? 



94. MILESTONES 

Emily. I must say, Aunt Nancy, you don't 
seem very surprised. 

Nancy. Who would be? You invite young 
people to a golden wedding, and then you're star- 
tled when you catch 'em kissing. What else do 
you expect? 

Emily. I expect a good deal else. 

Nancy. Then you're likely to be disappointed. 
As a matter of fact, I knew Richard was going to 
kiss Muriel to-night. 

Emily. Who told you? 

Nancy. He did, of course. At least, he let out 
to me he was going to propose to her. He usually 
gets what he wants, you know. 

Emily [angrily surprised] . H'm I 

Monk, [very definitely']. He won't get what he 
wants this time. 

Nancy. Oh? 

Monk. You must see that my sister can't marry 
an engineer. 

Nancy. Well — why not an engineer ? What 
are you? I can tell you what you might have 
been, if you hadn't been born in the right bed- 
room: you might have been a billiard-marker. 
What have you done? Tell me a single thing 
you've done? 

Monk. I've — oh I What tripe! 

Emily. Really, Aunt Nancy 

Nancy. Yes, my son is an engineer. And if 



ACT III 95 

you want to know what sort of an engineer he is, 
go to Mr. Arthur Preece. 

Monk, [disdainfully]. Who's Preece? 

Nancy [imitating his tone]. Ask your mother 
who Preece is. 

Emily [self-consciously]. Aunt Nancy! 

Nancy [continuing]. You aren't old enough 
to remember Mr. Preece as an engineer, but, at 
any rate, you know he's in the House of Com- 
mons, whereas you're only in the House of Lords. 
And I'd like you to tell me where your grand- 
father^ have been last week with all his workmen 
on strike — but for Mr. Preece ! 

Monk, Oh, that Preece! 

Nancy. Exactly. And it's that Preece that 
thinks the world of my son. My son's been out 
to Canada, and look how he got on in Winnipeg ! 
And now he's going out again, whose capital is 
he taking but your grandfather's? I should like 
to see your grandfather trust you with thirty 
thousand pounds and a ticket to Canada. 

Monk, I'm in no need of capital, thank ye. 

Nancy. Lucky for you you aren't! My hus- 
band left me very badly off, poor man, but I could 
count on Richard. A pretty look-out for your 
mother if she'd had to count on you! 

Emily [impatient]. Really, Aunt Nancy 

Nancy [nettled]. Well, you leave my son 
alone. [Enter from the hall Muriel and Richard. 



96 MILESTONES 

Muriel is a handsome girl of twenty-four, rather 
thin and eager with a high forehead, and with 
much distinction. She has herself under absolute 
control. Richard is a tall, broad, darkish fellow 
of twenty-seven, with a clean-shaven heavy face 
and rough hair. He is very taciturn.'] 

Emily. Muriel, it was you that I asked for. 

Muriel [quite calmly]. We were both just 
coming to tell you. 

Emily. Tell me what? 

Muriel. We're engaged. 

Emily. Does Richard leave you to say this to 
me? 

Muriel. Well, you know he was never a great 
talker. 

Richard. There it is — we're engaged. 

Nancy [to Muriel]. How matter-of-fact you 
are, you girls, nowdays. [She caresses Richard.] 

Muriel. Well, nobody seems strikingly enthusi- 
astic here. 

Emily. I should think not. I don't like these 
underhand ways. 

Muriel. What underhand ways? Surely you 
didn't expect Richard to announce in advance the 
exact place and hour he was going to propose to 
me. 

Emily. Please don't try to imitate your dear 
father. You're worse than Gerald sometimes. 

Muriel. Oh, very well, mamma ! What else ? 

Emily. Do you mean to tell me you're seri- 



ACT III 97 

ously thinking of going out to Canada — to Win- 
nipeg — for the rest of jour days ? 

Muriel. Of course, mamma! I'm sure I shall 
be happier there than here. 

Emily. You'll leave England? 

Muriel. Certainly. Politics are much more 
satisfactory over there, except for woman's suf- 
frage. All the questions that all the silly states- 
men are still wrangling about here have been set- 
tled over there ages ago. 

Emily. My poor girl ! 

Muriel. Mamma, I wish you wouldn't say " my 
poor girl." 

Emily. What have politics to do with happi- 
ness ? 

Muriel. They have a great deal to do with 
mine. But, of course, what most attracts me is all 
those thousands of square miles of wheat fields, 
and Richard making reaping-machines for them. 
The day I first see one of Richard's new machines 
at work on a Canadian wheat-farm will be the hap- 
piest day of my life — except to-day. 

Nancy [amazed at these sentiments'}. Well, 
you're a caution. 

Monk [with disgust] . Why not marry an agri- 
cultural implement while you're about it? 

Richard [threateningly']. You shut up! 

Muriel. But aren't you glad, mamma? 

Emily. I can't discuss the matter now. 

Muriel. But what is there to discuss? 



98 MILESTONES 

Emily [after a pause]. Muriel, I tell you at 
once, both of you, I sha'n't allow this marriage. 

Muriel. Not allow it? My poor mamma ! 

Monk. Certainly not. 

Richard. I've told you to shut up once. 

Emily. And your grandfather won't allow it, 
either. 

Muriel. Of course, mamma, you and I have 
always been devoted to each other. You've made 
allowances for me, and I've made allowances for 
you. But you must please remember that we're 
in the year 1912. I've promised to marry Rich- 
ard, and I shall marry him. There's no question 
of being " allowed." And if it comes to that, why 
shouldn't I marry him, indeed? 

Emily. You — your father's daughter, to think 
of going out to Winnipeg as the wife of a — 
your place is in London. 

Richard [stiffening at the sight of trouble]. 
But I say, Cousin Emily 

Muriel [gently, but firmly"]. Richard, — 
please. [Turning to her mother.] Mamma, you 
really do shock me. Just because I'm the Hon- 
ourable Muriel Pym! [Laughs.] I won't say 
you're a snob, because everybody's a snob, in some 
way or other. But you don't understand the new 
spirit, not in the least — and I'm so sorry. Why ! 
Hasn't it occurred to you even yet that the aris- 
tocracy racket's played out? [Rose and John 
enter by the double doors. They have both grown 



ACT III 99 

'very old, Rose being seventy -three and John sev- 
enty-seven. Rose has become short-sighted, white- 
haired and stoutish. John has grown a little deaf; 
his hair is thin, his eyes sunken, his complexion of 
wax, his features sharply defined. Gertrude fol- 
lows them, now seventy-three. She has grown into 
a thin shrivelled old woman, erect, hard with a high, 
shrill voice and keen, clear eyes.~\ 

Rose. Oh ! It's here they seem to be collected. 
[To Monkhurst.] Is that you, Gerald? Wher- 
ever has the poor lamb been? [She kisses him.] 

Monk. Grandma, congratulations. [To John.] 
Congratulations, sir. 

John [sternly]. Is this what you call good 
manners, boy? 

Monk. Sorry, sir. I was kept. 

John [sarcastically]. Kept? 

Monk. At the House of Lords. A division. 

Muriel. Good Heavens! Break it to us gently. 
Has his grandma's lamb gone into politics? 

Monk, [haughtily, ignoring his sister]. They 
telephoned me from headquarters. I thought you 
would prefer me 

John. Certainly, my boy. [Shakes his hand.] 
You couldn't have celebrated our golden wedding 
in a fashion more agreeable to us than by record- 
ing your first vote in the House of Lords. Could 
he, granny? 

Rose [feebly]. Bless us! Bless us! 

John. What was the division? 



100 MILESTONES 

Monk, [mumbling'], Er — the Trades Union 
Bill, sir. Third reading. 

John [not hearing]. What did you say? 

Monk, [louder]. Trades Union Bill, sir. 

Muriel. Oh, my poor lamb! The Trades 
Union Bill division isn't to be taken till to-mor- 
row! 

Monk, [hastily]. What am I thinking of? It 
must have been the Extended Franchise Bill, then. 
. Anyhow, I voted. 

John [coughing], H'm! H'm! 

Gert. [drawing a shawl round her shoulders \ 
fretfully]. Couldn't we have that window closed? 

Rose. Auntie Gertrude, how brave you are ! I 
daren't have asked. I declare I'm a martyr to 
this ventilation in my old age. 

Gert. I daresay I'm very old-fashioned, but 
when I was young we didn't try to turn a drawing- 
room into a park. 

Rose [to Richard , as he closes the window]. 
Thank you, Richard. 

John [pettishly]. Put a match to the fire, boy, 
and have done with it. [Richard goes to the fire- 
place, kneels down, and lights the fire,] 

,Gert, What's the matter, Emily? 

Emily [who has begun to weep]. Oh, Auntie 
Gertrude ! 

Nancy [soothingly]. Come, come, Emily. 

John. What's that? What's that? 

Rose [peering at Emily], What is it, John? 



ACT III 101 

John, Monkhurst, have you been upsetting 
your mother again? 

Muriel. I think it's us, grandpapa. 

John. What does she say? 

Muriel. I'm afraid it's us — Richard and me. 
We're engaged to be married. [Muriel points to 
Richard, who is still on his knees busy with the 
fire.] 

Rose. Oh, my dear — how sudden! What a 
shock ! What a shock ! I can understand your 
mother crying. I must cry myself. Come and 
kiss me! It's astonishing how quietly you young 
people manage these things nowadays. [Em- 
braces Muriel.] 

John. Who's engaged to be married? Who's 
engaged to be married? 

Richard [loudly, rising and dusting his hands]. 
Muriel and I, sir. 

John. Mu — Mu ! What the devil do 

you mean, sir? Emily, what in God's name are 
you thinking of? 

Emily [whimpering']. It's just as much of a 
surprise to me as to anybody. I don't approve 
of it. 

Monk. I've told them already you would never 
approve, sir. 

Nancy. You haven't, young man. It was 
your mother who told us that. 

John [to Nancy], I asked you to my golden 
wedding, Nancy 



102 MILESTONES 

Nancy. You did, Sir John. I shouldn't have 
come without. 

John. Do you countenance this — affair? 

Nancy. What's wrong with it? 

Rose [timidly']. Yes, John. What's wrong 
with it? Why shouldn't my Muriel marry her 
Richard? 

John. What's wrong with it, d'you say? 
What ! 

Emily [passionately']. I won't agree to it. 

John [to Nancy]. Nothing wrong with it, 
from your point of view. Nothing! [Laugh- 
ing.] Only I sha'n't have it. I won't have it. 

Rose. Grandpa, why do you always try to 
cross me? 

John, I? You? 

Rose. I've been yielding to you in everything 
for fifty years. I think I'm old enough to have 
my own way now — just once. 

John [startled]. What's come over you? 

Rose. Nothing's come over me. But I 
really 

John [subduing her] . Be silent, granny I 

Nancy. We thought you thought very highly 
of Richard. 

John. So I do. But what's that got to do with 
it? It's nothing but this genius business over 
again. 

Nancy. Genius business? 

John, Yes. I shall be told Richard's a genius, 



ACT III 103 

therefore he must be allowed to marry Muriel. 
Nonsense ! I had just the same difficulty with 
her mother twenty-six years ago. You ought to 
remember; you were there! Hadn't I, Emily? 

Emily [faintly']. Yes. 

John [not hearing']. What's that? 

Emily. Yes, father. Yes. 

John. Of course I had. I wouldn't have it 
then, and I won't have it now. What? Here's a 
young fellow, a very smart engineer. Insists on 
going to Canada. Wants capital! Well, I give 
it him ! I tell him he may go. Everything's set- 
tled. And then, if you please, he calmly an- 
nounces his intention of carrying off my grand- 
daughter — him ! 

Rose. If she's your grand-daughter, he's my 
nephew. 

John [glaring at her], Sh! 

Rose. No ! I wo 

John [continuing, staring at Rose] . My grand- 
daughter has got to marry something very differ- 
ent from an engineer. 

Nancy. If she did she might marry something 
that'll turn her hair grey a good deal sooner. 

John. I have my plans for Muriel. 

Emily. Imagine Muriel in Winnipeg! 

Muriel. What plans, granddad? You've 
never told me about any plans. 

John. Not told you! At your age, your 
mother had a conspicuous place in London society. 



104 MILESTONES 

And it's your duty to carry on the family tradi- 
tion. Your mother didn't marry into the peerage 
so that you could gallivant up and down Winnipeg 
as the wife of a manufacturing engineer. You 
have some notion of politics, though it's a mighty 

queer one 

Muriel. I hardly think my politics would fur- 
ther your plan, granddad. I should have sup- 
posed the whole of my career would have made it 
plain that I have the greatest contempt for official 
politics. 

John. Your " career " ! Your " contempt " ! 
[Laughs good-humouredly, then more softly. ] 

My child 

Muriel [nettled], I'm not a child. 
John [angrily]. Enough! Don't make your- 
self ridiculous. [More quietly.] Your mother 
and your brother think as I do. Let that suffice. 

Richard. Pardon me, sir, but suppose it won't 
suffice ? 

John [furious], I — I 

Muriel [violently]. Granddad, do please keep 
calm. 

John [as above], I'm perfectly calm, I be- 
lieve. 

Nancy [to Gertrude], Then he'd believe any- 
thing ! 

Muriel. You don't seem to have understood 
that we're engaged to be married. 
Gert. I must say 



ACT III 105 

John. And what must you say? You'll side 
with my wife against me, and the girl's own mother, 
I suppose? 

Gert. I fail to see any objection whatever. 

John. Do you, indeed! Well, objection or no 
objection, I mean it to be stopped — now, at 
once. 

Muriel. But how shall you stop it, granddad? 

John. If I hear one more word of this, one 
more word — there'll be no thirty thousand pounds 
for Richard. Not from me, at any rate. And I 
don't imagine that your mother will help him, or 
Monkhurst either. Where is he? 

Monk. Not much. 

Muriel. But that won't stop it, granddad ! 

Rose [rising, and going to the hall door]. 
John, you're a hard, hard old man. The one thing 
I ask of you, and on our golden wedding day, too, 
and you won't even listen. You shut me up as 
though I were a — a — - I do think it's a shame. 
The poor things. [She goes out in tears.] 

Nancy [hurrying out after her] . Rose ! Rose ! 
Don't ! 

John. Here I arrange a nice little family din- 
ner to celebrate the occasion. I invite no outsiders, 
so that we shall be nice and homely and comfort- 
able. And this is how you treat me. You induce 
your grandmother to defy me — the first time in 
her life. You bring your mother to tears, and 
you 



106 MILESTONES 

Emily. There's nothing to be said in favour of 
it — nothing. The very thought of it 

Richard. I'm awfully sorry. 

John. No, you aren't, sir. So don't be impu- 
dent. {Webster enters.'] 

Webster. Mr. Arthur Preece, Sir John. I've 
shown him into the study. 

John. Very good. {Webster goes out.~\ 

Gert. Why can't Mr. Preece come up here? 

John. Because he's come to see me on private 
business, madam. Private, do I say? It's public 
enough. Everybody knows that I can't keep my 
own workmen in order without the help of a La- 
bour M.P. The country's going to the dogs ! My 
own father used to say so, and I never believed 
him. But it's true. [He goes to the door.] 

Monk. May I come with you, sir? {With a 
superior glance at Muriel.] These family ruc- 
tions 

John. Come! [John goes off, followed by 
Monkhurst.] 

Gert. [meaningly]. Richard, go and see where 
your mother is, will you? [Richard follows the 
others. A slight pause.] 

Emily [still weakly and tearfully]. How your 
poor grandmother is upset! 

Muriel. Yes, I'm very sorry. 

Emily. That's something. 

Muriel. It's such a humiliating sight. No real 
arguments. No attempt to understand my point 



ACT III 107 

of view! Nothing but blustering and bullying 
and stamping up and down. He wants to make 
out that I'm still a child with no will of my own. 
But it's he who's the child. 

Gert. Come, come, Muriel. 

Muriel. Yes, it is. A spoilt child! When 
anything happens that doesn't just please him, 
there's a fine exhibition of temper. Don't we all 
know it. And this is the great Sir John Rhead! 
Bah! 

Emily [amazed], Muriel! 

Muriel. Oh, of course it isn't his fault ! Every- 
one's always given him his own way — especially 
grandma. It's positively pathetic; grandma try- 
ing to turn against him now. Poor old thing! 
As if she could ! Now ! 

Emily. Muriel, your cold-bloodedness abso- 
lutely frightens me. 

Muriel. But, mother, I'm not cold-blooded. 
It's only common-sense. 

Gert. [clumsily caressing Emily], Darling! 

Emily, Common-sense will be the finish of me; 
I've no one left in the world now. 

Gert, [hurt]. Then I suppose I'm too old to 
count. And yet for nearly fifty years I've lived 
for nobody but you. Many and many a time I 
should have been ready to die — yes, glad to — 
only you were there. 

Emily [affectionately]. And yet you're 
against me now. 



108 MILESTONES 

Gert. I only want you not to have any regrets. 

Emily. Any regrets! My life has been all 
regrets. Look at me. 

Gert. Not all your life, dear — your marriage. 
[Muriel looks up.] 

Emily [firmly, and yet frightened with a look 
at Muriel]. Hush, auntie! 

Gert. Why? Why should I hush? You say 
your life's been all regrets, if you care about being 
honest with Muriel, you ought to tell her now 
that you did not marry the man you were in love 
with. 

Emily [in an outburst]. Don't believe it, 
Muriel. No one could have been a kinder hus- 
band than your father was, and I always loved 
him. 

Muriel [intimidated by these revelations of feel- 
ings] . Mother ! 

Gert. Then what do you regret? You had an 
affection for Ned, but if you had loved him as 
you loved — the other one — what is there to re- 
gret? And now you seem to be doing your best 
to make regrets for Muriel — and — and — oh, 
Emily, why do you do it? 

Muriel [moved, but controlling herself]. Yes, 
mamma! Why? I'm sure I'm open to hear rea- 
son on any subject — even marriage. 

Emily [blackly]. Reason! Reason! There 
you are again! My child, you're my oldest, and 
I've loved you beyond everybody. You've never 



ACT III 109 

been attached to me. It isn't your fault, and I 
don't blame you. Things happen to be like that, 
that's all. You don't know how hard you are. 
If you did, you'd be ready to bite your tongue 
off. Here I am, with you and Gerald. Gerald is 
not bad at heart, but he's selfish and he's a fool. 
I could never talk freely to him, as I do to you. 
One day he'll be asking me to leave Berkeley 
Square, and I shall go and finish my days in the 
country. And here you calmly announce you're 
off to Canada, and you want my reasons for ob- 
j ecting ! There's only one reason — all the oth- 
ers are nothing — mere excuses — and you 
couldn't guess that one reason. You have to be 
told. If you cared for me, you wouldn't force 
me to the shame of telling you. 

Muriel [whispering]. Shame? 

Emily. Isn't it humiliating for a mother to 
have to tell her daughter, who never's even thought 
of it, that she cannot bear to lose her, — cannot 
bear? — Canada ! 

Muriel [throwing herself at her mother *s knees.] 
Mother, I'll never leave you ! [She sobs, burying 
her face in her mother's lap.] 

Gert. [softly]. All this self-sacrifice is a sad 
mistake. [To Muriel.] None of us can live for 
ever. When your mother is gone — what will you 
do then? 

Muriel [climbing up and kissing her mother]. 
I'll never leave you I 



110 MILESTONES 

Emily. My child! 

Gert. [gently]. It's wrong of you, Emily! 
All wrong! [Arthur Preece enters from the hall. 
His hair and moustache have grown grey. His 
expression and manner slightly disillusioned and 
cynical. In -figure he is the same.'] 

Preece. Good evening. 

Muriel [on seeing him, rises quickly rather like 
a school-girl.] Good evening. [She goes out 
rapidly. Preece looks after her a little surprised.] 

Emily [at once the woman of the world]. Good 
evening. You've soon finished your business with 
father. 

Preece [puzzled by the appearance of things]. 
Good evening. [He shakes hands with Emily.] 
What is the matter? The old gentleman really 
wasn't equal to seeing me. I just told him what 
I had to tell him about the strikers, and then he 
said I'd perhaps better come up here. I think he 
wanted to be alone. 

Emily. Poor dear! 

Preece. Nothing serious, I hope? 

Gert. [briskly, shaking Preece by the hand]. 
The usual thing, Mr. Preece, the usual thing! A 
new generation has got to the marrying age. You 
know what it is. I know what it is. Now, Emily, 
don't begin to cry again. People who behave as 
selfishly as you're doing have no right to weep — 
except for their sins. 



ACT III 111 

Emily [protesting'] . Auntie, this can't possibly 
interest Mr. Preece. 

Gert. [still more briskly]. Don't talk that kind 
of conventional nonsense, Emily! You know 
quite well it will interest Mr. Preece extremely. 
[Rising.] Now just tell him all about it and see 
what he says. [With a peculiar tone.] I sup- 
pose you'll admit he ought to be a good judge of 
such matters? [She moves to the door.] 

Emily. Where are you going? 

Gert. [imitating Emily slightly]. That can't 
possibly interest you. [Wearily.] I'm out of 
patience. [She goes out of the room.] 

Emily [trying to force a light tone]. I hope 
you had some good news about the workmen for 
my poor old father. What a finish for his golden 
wedding day ! 

Preece [following her lead]. Yes, I think his 
little affair's pretty well fixed up — anyhow for 
the present. He's shown himself pretty reason- 
able. If he'd continued to be as obstinate as he 
was at the start, the thing would have run him 
into a lot of money. 

Emily. I wonder he doesn't retire. 

Preece. He's going to. There's to be a Lim- 
ited Company. 

Emily. Father — a Limited Company ! He 
told you? 

Preece. Yes, 



112 MILESTONES 

Emily. Then he must have been feeling it's 
getting too much for him. 

Preece. Well, considering his years — seventy- 
seven, isn't it? Some of us will be beaten long 
before that age. [He siglis.~\ 

Emily. Why that sigh? You aren't getting 
ready to give up, are you? 

Preece. No, I expect I shall go on till I drop. 

Emily. I should have thought you had every 
reason to be satisfied with what you have done. 

Preece. Why ? 

Emily, Unless you regret giving up steel for 
politics. 

Preece. No. I don't regret that. I'd done all 
I really wanted to do there. I'd forced your 
father to take up steel on a big scale. I'd made 
more than all the money I needed. And other 
processes were coming along, better than mine. 

Emily. I wonder how many men there are 
who've succeeded as you have done, both in poli- 
tics and out of politics. 

Preece. Do you think I've succeeded in poli- 
tics ? 

Emily. You haven't held office, but I've always 
understood it was because you preferred to be 
independent. 

Preece. It was. I could have sold my soul 
over and over again for a seat at an Under-Secre- 
tary's desk. I wouldn't even lead the Labour 
Party. 



ACT III 113 

Emily. But everyone knows you're the strong- 
est man in the Labour Party. 

Preece. Well, if I am — the strongest man in 
the Labour Party is rather depressed. 

Emily. Why? 

Preece. Difficult to say. Twenty years ago, I 
thought the millennium would be just about estab- 
lished in 1912. Instead of that, it's as far off as 
ever. It's even further off. 

Emily. Further off? 

Preece. Yes. And yet a lot of us have worked. 
By God, we have! But there's a different spirit 
now. The men are bitter. They can't lead 
themselves and they won't be led. They won't 
be led. And nobody knows what's going to hap- 
pen next. Except that trouble's going to happen. 
I often wonder why I was cursed with the reform- 
ing spirit. How much happier I should have 
been if I'd cared for nothing in this world but 
my own work — like young Richard Sibley, for 
instance. 

Emily. Isn't he interested in reform? 

Preece. Not he! He's an engineer, only an 
engineer. He minds his own business. I suppose 
he's here to-night. 

Emily. Yes. 

Preece [in an ordinary tone']. Why won't you 
let him marry Miss Muriel? 

Emily [startled]. Then father's told you? 

Preece. Not a word. But Richard and I are 



114 MILESTONES 

great pals. He's told me his plans. Why 
shouldn't they marry? 

Emily [weakly]. Muriel won't go to Canada. 

Preece. Won't go to Canada? But I under- 
stand she had a tremendous notion of Canada. 

Emily. She's promised me she won't go. 

Preece. But why should she do that? 

Emily [half breaking down]. Oh, I know I'm 
selfish. But — but — I should be quite alone, if 
she went. And then, it's not what we'd antici- 
pated for her. We naturally hoped 

Preece. Oh! Of course, if you're in the mar- 
riage market 

Emily. No. Really it's not that — at least as 
far as I'm concerned. I should be so utterly alone. 
And she's promised me. If she deserted me 

Preece. Deserted — rather a strong word 



Emily. Please don't be hard I You don't know 
how unhappy I am. You admit you're discour- 
aged. 

Preece. I said " depressed." 

Emily. Well, depressed, then. Can't you feel 
for others? 

Preece [rather roughly]. And who made me 
admit it? Who kept questioning me and worming 
it out of me? You wouldn't leave it alone. 
You're like all the other women — and I've had to 
do with a few. 

Emily [affronted']. Please 

Preece. It isn't sufficient for you to make a man 



ACT III 115 

unhappy. You aren't satisfied till he admits 
you've made him unhappy. 

Emily [protesting]. Oh! 

Preece. How many times have I seen you since 
this cursed strike brought me among the family 
again? Half-a-dozen, perhaps. And every single 
time I've noticed you feeling your way towards it. 
And to-night you've just got there. 

Emily. Arthur, you must forgive me. It's 
quite true. We can't help it. 

Preece. What should I care about lost millen- 
niums and labour troubles ahead, if I'd any genu- 
ine personal interest in my own ? Not a jot. Not 
a tinker's curse! Do you remember you let me 
kiss you — once ? 

Emily, Forgive me! I know I oughtn't to be 
forgiven. But life's so difficult. Ever since I've 
been seeing you again I've realised how miserable 
I am — it's such a long time since. It seems as 
it was some other girl and not me — twenty-six 
years ago — here ! And yet it's like yesterday. 
[She sobs. ] [Preece embraces her first roughly 
and then very tenderly.] 

Preece. My child ! 

Emily. I'm an old woman. 

Preece. You said it was like yesterday — when 
you were twenty -three — so it is. [They hiss 
again.] 

Emily [with a little laugh]. This will kill fa- 
ther. 



116 MILESTONES 

Preece. Not it. Your father has a remarkable 
constitution. It's much more likely to kill the 
Labour Party. [John enters, agitated and 
weary.] 

John [brusquely]. Where's your mother? 
She's not in the other room. I thought she was in 
here. I want to see her. 

'Emily. She's probably gone to her own room — 
poor dear ! 

John. Can't you go and find her? [He sits 
down, discouraged.] 

Emily [coming over to him]. Father, I've been 
thinking it over, and I'm afraid we shall have to 
agree to Muriel's marriage. 

John. We shall have to agree to it? I sha'n't 
agree to it. 

Emily. As Mr. Preece says 

John. Mr. Preece? 

Emily. You know how friendly he is to Richard 
— as Mr. Preece says, why shouldn't they marry ? 

Preece. I merely ventured to put the question, 
Sir John. 

John. Why shouldn't they? Because they 
shouldn't. Isn't that enough? [To Emily.] A 
quarter of an hour ago you yourself agreed in the 
most positive way that there was nothing whatever 
to be said in favour of such a match. 

Emily. I was rather overlooking the fact that 
they're in love with each other — [glancing at 
Preece] — a quarter of an hour ago. 



ACT III 117 

John. Are all you women gone mad to-night? 
Preece, do you reckon you understand women ? 

Preece. Now and then one gets a glimpse, 
sir. 

John [realising state of affairs between Preece 
and Emily] . H'm ! 

Emily [noticing her father watch her, rather 
self -consciously]. After all, what difference can it 
make to us? We sha'n't be here as long as they 
will. 

John. What? What? 

Emily [louder]. We sha'n't be here as long as 
they will, I say. 

John. That's it! Tell me I'm an old man! 
Of course, it can't make any difference to us. I 
was looking at the matter solely from their point of 
view. How can it affect me — whom Muriel 
marries ? 

Emily. Well, then! Let them judge for them- 
selves. You agree? [John stares before him ob- 
stinately.] Father [John shakes his head 

impatiently.] Dad ! 

John [looking up like a sulky child]. Oh, have 
it your own way. I'm not the girl's mother. If 
you've made up your mind, there's nothing more to 
be said. 

Emily. And Richard's capital? 

John. Oh, it's all lying ready. [Shrugs Ms 
shoulders.] May as well have it, I suppose. 

Emily. You're a dear! 



118 MILESTONES 

John, I'm not a dear, and I hate to be called a 
dear. 

Emily. What a shocking untruth! I shall go 
and tell them, I think. [She goes to the door, ] 

John [calling her back], Emily I 

Emily, Yes. 

John. Don't let them come in here. I couldn't 
bear it. 

Emily. Oh, but 



John. I couldn't stand the strain of another 
scene. It's late now — I'm an old man, and people 
have no right to upset me in this way. 

Emily, Couldn't they just say good-night? 

John, Very well. They must say good-night 
and go at once. Another day 

Emily [very soothingly'], I'll tell them you're 
very tired. [She nods smilingly at her father and 
leaves the room, A slight pause.] 

Preece. A difficult job, being the head of a fam- 

ily. 

John, I've done with it, Preece. I've decided 
that to-night — that's what a golden wedding 
comes to in these days. Things aren't what they 
were. In my time a man was at any rate master in 
his own house and on his own works. Seemed nat- 
ural enough ! But you've changed all that. 

Preece, I've changed it? 

John [continuing confidentially]. Why, even 
my own wife's gone against me to-night. My own 



ACT III 119 

wife! [Troubled.] Did you ever hear of such 
a thing? 

Preece. I have heard of it, Sir John. 

John [grimly]. You laugh. Wait till you're 
married. 

Preece. I may have to wait a long time. 

John. Eh, what? A long time? Don't try to 
hoodwink me, Preece. I know what you all say 
when I'm not there. " Old Rhead." " Be break- 
ing up soon, the old man ! " But I'm not yet quite 
doddering. [Pointedly.] You'll be married in- 
side six months — and every newspaper in London 
will be full of it. Yes, answer that. My work- 
men go out on strike, and you poke your nose in 
and arrange it for me. Then my family go out 
on strike, and upon my soul, you poke your damned 
nose in there, too, and arrange that for me — on 
your own terms. Tut — tut 1 Shake hands, man ! 
You and your like are running the world to the 
devil, and I'm too old to step in and knock you 
down. But — but — I wish you luck, my lad. 
You're a good sort. [They shake hands. Emily, 
Nancy, Muriel, Richard and Gertrude all enter 
from the hall.] 

Preece. Well, good-night, Sir John. 

Emily [cheerfully]. We're just coming to say 
good-night, grandpapa. I'm sure you must be 
very tired. We've said good-night to granny. 

John [feebly]. Where is she? Where is 
granny ? 



120 MILESTONES 

Nancy [heartily shaking hands]. Good-night, 
John, and thank you for a very pleasant time. 
[She goes to Gertrude, who now stands near the 
door, and kisses her good-night.] 

Richard [heartily shaking hands]. Thank you, 
sir. [Nancy passes out by the door. Gertrude 
now shakes hands with Richard, who follows his 
mother.] 

Emily [kisses John]. Good-night, dear. 
[John, turning from Emily, moves with a generous 
gesture to Muriel, who, however, keeps a very stiff 
demeanour and shakes hands in cold silence. 
Emily has reached Gertrude. They both watch 
Muriel.] 

Emily [with a shade of disappointment turns to 
Gertrude.] Good-night, auntie. [Gertrude and 
Emily embrace, then Emily passes quickly out of 
the door.] 

John [stiffly, looking about]. Where's Monk- 
hurst ? 

Gert. Oh, he is gone! He said he had an ap- 
pointment at the Club. 

John. What Club? The Carlton? 

Muriel [shaking hands with Gertrude]. The 
Automobile, you may depend. [She goes off by 
the door quickly.] 

Gert. Well, this day is over. [Webster enters 
from the hall.] 

Webster. Any orders, Sir John? 

John. None. 



ACT III 121 

Gert. Can't we have some of the blaze of elec- 
tricity turned off? 

John. As you like. [Webster extinguishes 
several clusters with the switches at the door, then 
goes out. The room is left in a discreet light. ~\ 

John [almost plaintively']. Where's Rose? 
[Rose enters timidly from the hall.] 

Gert. Here she is. 

Rose [going up to John]. John, forgive me 
for having dared to differ from my dear husband. 

John [taking her hand softly]. Old girl — 
[then half humorously shaking his head] — you'll 
be the death of me, if you do it again. 

Gert. I think I'm going to bed. 

John. No, not yet. 

Rose. Gertrude, will you do me a favour, on my 
golden wedding-day? 

Gert. What is it? 

Rose. Sing for us. 

Gert. Oh I My singing days are over long 
ago. 

John [persuasively] . Go on '— go on. There's 
nobody but us to hear. 

Gert. Really it is [Stops.] Very well. 

[Gertrude goes through the double doors. Rose 
draws her lace shawl round her.] 

John. Let's sit by the fire if you're cold. [He 
moves a chair in place for her gallantly. Rose sits 
to the left of the fire. John takes a seat to the 
right of the fire. The song " Juanita " is heard in 



122 MILESTONES 

a cracked and ancient voice, very gently and 
faintly.] 

Rose [softly, by the fire]. When I think of all 
this room has seen 

John [looking into the fire] . Ah I 

Rose. I'm sure it's very pleasant to remember. 

John. Ah! That's because you're pleasant. 
I've said it before, and I say it again. The women 
of to-day aren't what women used to be. They're 
hard. They've none of the old charm. Unsexed 
— that's what they are — unsexed. [Muriel en- 
ters quickly from the hall in a rich white cloak. 
She pauses smiling, then hurries delicately across 
to her grandfather and embraces him; releases hvm, 
shyly takes a flower from her bosom, drops it into 
his hand, turns and gives her grandmother a smile, 
whispering " Good-night. They're waiting for 
me," and hurries out again.] 

John [looking at the flower]. We live and 
learn. 

Rose [nodding her head]. Yes, John. [The 
song continues.] 



[Curtain.] 



